


To love properly

by HentaHime



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Part-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Romance, Yennefer is too good of a friend, emotional repressed Geralt, i swear this ends well, kind of fluff?, scent kink? kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25114990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HentaHime/pseuds/HentaHime
Summary: A young Jaskier gets involved in a nasty curse, a gift from a resented ex-lover. He never paid much atention to it until years later, when he finally understand exactly what has she done to him.This is a travel of many feelings, a slow-burn where you'll see all kinds of love and friendship, with a brave and strong Jaskier as the main guest.Love is my poison and this is a story of that, basically.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 36
Kudos: 292





	1. Knowing the curse.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! this is my first work of this fandom. I found myself falling in here so deep so quick, I think I can hear Lassie barking for people to find me.  
> English is not my first language, I tried my very best to find typos but, it's so hard to understand the right verbal times...  
> *sweat nervous while giggling* So... please, let me know when you find a mistake, 'cause i'm sure you'll do it.  
> I hope you enjoy!

Jaskier is a being of love.

He loves to love, love is good, is nice, it makes his heart fell lighter and full and happy. Wherever that love takes form. It could be a nice weather, a belly full of warm meal and good ale, and, more often than anything, it could be an attractive body warming him up. What could be nicer than that? Everybody loves the guilty pleasure of sex, Jaskier is no exception. He takes everything that is offered at him, Jaskier is not picky. Men, women, skinny, a little bit chubby, all is perfect and acceptable and lovable.

But everything is, of course, a passenger love.

Jaskier has many years walking this beautiful world, many more that what he takes credit for. Not everyone is kind to hear of a bard with half elven blood wandering and is capable to accept it with open hands, so he saves that little information for himself, after all it didn’t hurt anyone to not share his secret. He loves, sing and enjoy places and people until the curious eyes wondering why his face didn’t age like others begin to sprout. When that happens, he just grabs his lute and walk to another village, sometimes it is a very nice one where he can settle down for a while, sometimes it is not, and he just sing for coins and stays there for a couples of days.

Jaskier is happy with his life. Sure, there are times when he asks himself if there is something more he could want and achieve, but a temporally love always fix his mind and Jaskier move forward.

Jaskier is a being of love, and Jaskier is a magnet for trouble too.

It’s not for the first time that he can admit running away in the early hours of dawn, when the sun is not even wake up of its sleep, from a bloody and murderous cuckold husband, or wife. Jaskier loves, and sometimes he also likes to add some spice to his life, after all, his life is a very long one. So Jaskier is used to run from killer intent, but other times, the danger is a little bit more unconventional.

Like right now.

“I beg your pardon?”

When you live for as much time as this humble bard, you learn some stuff. You learn to not eat every shiny thing that sprout from bushes, no matter how nice they look. You learn to always have a coat for the cold, in every season of the year. You also learn how to cook and make yourself useful in case of robbers and similar threat in the road. Jaskier admits not without a little shame that he very much prefers to seduce a nice person to share a warm bed and with a little luck, a bath and a meal. The physical force wasn’t his forte, and he survived so many years with his strategy, so, thank you very much.

But there also times when even with so many years on him, Jaskier learn something new.

Marnie, gorgeous and sweet Marnie in front of him, has her face scrunched up in anger. Beautiful face Jaskier cannot stop thinking, but dangerous without any doubt. Her chestnut and curly hair bounce with every move that she does, and of course Jaskier is not afraid of this lady, but he wouldn’t get his eyes of her, just in case.

Marnie is a young little lady whom Jaskier met just a couple of months ago. She is the daughter of a local farmer and a sweet woman who does not look half her age, Jaskier can testify of the fact. He, mind you, knows a little tiny bit about camouflaged faces against the years. Marnie also have a smile so bright and happy that it is only logical that Jaskier wants to love her a little more. And so, he does, he sings for her, make ballads for her ears only and enjoy every little second to her side. Marnie is funny, sweet and a with the perfect touch of savage in the bed to make Jaskier came back for her over the next weeks. Marnie teach Jaskier little tricks that she makes with plants as well, medicine, scented oils and even a kind of potion for his sore muscles. Of course, in that moment those things did not light a spark of wary in Jaskier head, he just loves their time together, but certainly, Jaskier cannot love just one thing for too much time. His love is free, wide, infinite, it would only be a shame to keep it from the rest of the world. So, when the spring comes, that was what he tells her. Jaskier expects some weeping, some reluctance of course, they were together for almost three months, but he didn’t expect this.

“You use people. Your love is careless and selfish, you have no respect at all for other people's feelings.”

“Oh, oh that hurts me. I’ll have you know I _did_ love you; you are one of the prettiest memories that I made in my life, it’s not nice to say that I used you, young lady”

Marnie scoff and roll her eyes. Which, rude.

“Please, bard. We both know that is a fat lie. You use people to survive a season and fly the second you get bored. Years behind your back tell the truth, _Julian_.”

And isn’t _that_ very curious. Jaskier remembers very well never telling this little lady that name. The chilling over his spine make itself heavier suddenly.

“You hurt me” she says, and Jaskier can feel some of that pain in her voice “, you broke my heart, something that obviously no one ever did to you. You hurt me, so I’m going to hurt you too.”

“Okay now, that is not a very good idea. You don’t want to stain your perfect hands with my blood, it’s not going to be a nice story to tell. I’m not that worthy, really! Why don’t you let me suggest something better, perhaps hit me with something? I can endure that much, and we can both spare yourself from cleaning my blood from this beautiful, beautiful carpet that looks so expensive and—”

“Hush now. I’m not killing you; you fool.”

Well, not killing is good on his list. Jaskier can work with not killing, everything below that list is probably endurable. How much damage could Marnie do after all?

“I’m going to curse you.”

Oh, well.

“You live from love, so be it then. Julian Alfred Pankratz, you are going to be feed from love. You are going to enjoy other people’s love all your life, all your not-so-human life. But you’ll never find love for yourself. I’m going to make sure of that. The moment that you fall for some poor soul, that instant when your heart be full of happiness and love and you just want to reach it to taste it, I’m going to prevent it. I’ll make your very heart and soul break from pain and sadness, you’ll die from heartbreak, Julian. You’ll never be loved the way you want. And so then you’ll learn how to treat people like they deserve.”

And isn’t that a little bit extreme? Jaskier offers his love to whoever need it, his love is pure and vast and freely to take. Is actually a little bit presumptuous of Marnie’s part to believe that Jaskier was to be only for hers to take. He never said that. Nope. She made that conclusion for herself, and if Jaskier can say something is—

“Son of a bitch—!"

Yeah, okay, Marnie knows how to make her curses particularly painful it seems. Her hand is firm on Jaskier chest over his heart, and it feels like the little bit of air that gets through his lungs is transformed in ice and storm and so much pain all at the same time. Jaskier grabs for her arm, but it also seems that Marnie is a very built woman because she doesn’t even flinch. A strange blue light is coming from her hand for just a couple of seconds that feel like an eternity to Jaskier. And he’ll live an eternity, so he knows about time measurement.

When she pulls her hand away, Jaskier fall on his knees clutching his chest. Breathing is painful, a buzz in his ears block every sound for a while and is only when he thinks that he can move without any member of his body falling apart that he looks finally at Marnie. Probably, most probably, is not the time to say it, but the color in her eyes is so pretty even now when she is cursing him. Is like an autumn oak enlightened with the orange of the sunset. A beautiful tragedy that definitely be one of his best ballads. If he makes it from this alive, of course.

Jaskier doesn’t trust himself to say anything, a day of first times for him, but fortunately Marnie speaks first.

“You are a good person, Jaskier. You're only shitty when it comes to emotions outside your little songs. But I see now that is not only with others” Marnie kneel briefly in front of him, moving with the back of her hand a stray lock of hair from Jaskier’s cheek. “You never let yourself be loved either. You’re afraid of being hurt and for that you play safe. Well,” Marnie smile a little “, now you have a real motive to be afraid. May the life teach you about cherish someone that is not just you, fool and egoist Julian.”

Marnie is now with her back to him, ready to leave the tiny room, but Jaskier stops her with a last word.

“For what is worth… I truly loved you, Marnie. My love was just a different kind of the one you were looking for. I’m… I’m sorry”

She gives him the benefit of one last look too. Her eyes are sad, that much is obvious. Even if Jaskier doesn’t approve of her methods of revenge, at least he can admit that if that beautiful face is so afflicted for his fault, he’s never going to resent her. Jaskier is many things, but not even him can wash his hands for breaking a heart without intent to. He did love her, to his way, but it's just that he doesn’t’ know how to love so intense like her. Jaskier doesn’t even know if he wants to. Love so strong leads to open yourself, and that part always came with pain. Nobody that once in their life experienced a heartache could say that is something nice. But there are people who doesn’t care, and love again, and suffer again and even then, try one more time. Jaskier is not one of them. Jaskier will live a long, long life with only temporary love and the company of his beloved lute. Oh, see! He loves something with all his heart, and that is his lute! Ha take that.

Marnie smile soft, and if it wasn’t him the one cursed just moments ago, Jaskier would say to her that she has a charming smile.

“No, you don’t. But I appreciate the lie. Goodbye, Julian.”

For the next years, Jaskier tries to decipher the extent of the curse. Nothing really changes at all that much, so when the first three years passed by and really, nothing happened, Jaskier ultimately forgot about it and keep living the same way.

Then, the Countess of Stael happen.

And Jaskier, suddenly, understood the curse.

When they were together Jaskier was happy, loved, he permits himself love that beautiful woman in a way that never before happened. She was all. She was smart, gorgeous, funny, and so, so fucking hot in the bed. She was the one who teach him not little amount of techniques to expand his repertory, and gods if he wasn’t thankful for that. The Countess walked through every single wall that Jaskier could have, and he let her. They shared secrets, very personal secrets. She knew of his elven blood and care little about, which make him loved her even more. He learned every name that the Countess told him of people very low in her list of love, and then Jaskier make funny songs about that, and she laughed. And oh boy, he loved so much that laugh.

For almost a year and a half, Jaskier bloom with happiness.

And then, she told him about this man who was going to become her husband. And that man was, of course, not Jaskier.

And then, the curse.

Jaskier had the exact amount of time to be as much away from the Countess as possible before he experienced it, and for that at least he was thankful. Because it was not nice. Not remotely.

Jaskier made it to his small inn room before it exploded.

Literally explode.

He was burning from the inside out, an awful bloodbath between every cell in his body. How much hate can those tiny little being have, huh? His lungs felt like there were being tore apart and accommodated in the wrong place. Breathe was as much pain. He was crying before noticing, and not the cute and elegant cry, oh no. The awful kind where you want to scream but the air is not enough, and just pitiful screeches come from his lips. Jaskier couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream. He couldn’t even keep himself stood. He just squeezed his heart that was the source of all the pain, it felt cold, hot, heavy, all different kinds of painful. Jaskier thought that he would die.

Jaskier wished to die, if only to spare the suffer.

But he did not.

He survived, even if it took for him a whole week without been able to pass food and just the little bit of water. Jaskier survived. And though his looks had seen better days, without the so dark circles under his eyes, and his skin perhaps more opaque than usual, Jaskier lived and promise to himself that not one more time in his life he was going to fall in love.

It was a mistake. The Countess, even if it was perfect while it happened, was a big mistake. One that he does not want to make again.

Jaskier is a being of love. And more than ever, he was going to live from brief love to prevent that deep wound in his heart resurface.

And then, Geralt of Rivia happened.

Jaskier wasn't fully healed when they met, so following him was the best thing he could thought of. New sources for his songs, a new adventure, creatures to meet. Yeah Geralt was the perfect packaging to the gift that Jaskier deserved to truly forget everything, according to him, thank you very much. But, obviously, it wasn’t easy. Geralt stood very clear in his “not wanting to be with anyone” posture.

Pff.

Like that was ever going to stop him. Jaskier followed him anyway. First for curiosity, a Witcher was a strange thing to put your hands on, even for someone as long-lived as Jaskier. And Geralt more so. Now, if you ask Jaskier exactly what of all that grungy and ginormous oaf is what lead to their friendship, well, he wouldn’t know either. They get along, sometimes, most times. Not at first and not quickly either. Jaskier worked very hard to earn the right to travel beside Geralt and the gorgeous Roach. The one and the same Roach who now allows him to braid her hair from time to time, when the hunting was only for Geralt to walk and she and Jaskier had plenty of hours to know each other. Jaskier also know better than to try and touch her without her permission if a kick in the shins was what he was looking for.

It took Jaskier exactly a year and eight months on the road to fully know Roach. It took Jaskier a heavy couples of years more to begin to know real and valuable information about Geralt. Geralt is a mountain in the outside: big, imposing, inscrutable. But Jaskier knows better. Geralt is a whole world inside. The first time that Jaskier made Geralt laugh, and not the small smirk, the real laugh, was when Jaskier knew. Someone who laugh so clean couldn’t be so bad and lack of feelings as every person in the world claim him to be.

And then Jaskier was a man with a mission. He made to know Geralt of Rivia his main purpose. He was going to clean his name and make sure that every person knew the real Geralt. The one who stands back when someone insult him to not get any more troubles. The one who saves little tokens from people whom he helped along the years but will denied it if you confront him about it. The one who enjoys baths of extremely hot water and would exchange all his coin for that guilty pleasure. Jaskier never said this to him, but he has a secret save of coins precisely for that bath. He is just a bard, he can only offer to lighten his mood and make the name of the White Wolf a renown around the world, maybe patching him up when a hunting go bad, and wash his hair with the specially select scented oils that saves secretly for Geralt to use.

Jaskier has many secrets and knows how to keep them, mind you.

He knows Geralt for about two years and three months now and has plenty knowledge about him. Every quirk from his face, every grunt and its meanings, because obviously Jaskier is fluently in Geralt language by now. They both understand each other without words, actually. Jaskier speaks with his music sometimes, in the weirds days when his words feel too much. Geralt likes those days, but also is anxious to hear him rumble nonsense again, because that is something to which he grows accustomed to, Jaskier filling the silence with his voice. Not every time does Geralt follows on the talk, the bard is specialist in a one-sided conversation if you must know. But Geralt likes it. He traveled for so many years in silence that now that he knows this world, the old one seems like a grey a cold one.

Jaskier is easy. Is happy for silly things like a nice weather, a warm meal and even when he finds the right rhyme for that new song. And Jaskier easiness is extremely contagious. So Geralt sometimes do-little thing. Nothing very big. Never too big, because that isn’t his style. But, sometimes, Geralt remembers when Jaskier is going to run out of oil from his lute, so in their next stop at a town, he gets one or two new vials. And if he expends a little extra coin making sure that it is a nice quality, he never says it.

In occasions even more special, Geralt even gets him a new set of clothes. He doesn’t understand the fashion that Jaskier obviously follow but knows the necessary to acquire new doublet and trousers, slightly muted than the bright ones that he wears. A nice olive and golden one, with a warmer coat for the winter and a set of boots too. Jaskier never ask for too much, he plays the act of doing it, when he repeat for ten times in half an hour about how sore his feet are, or how he could let him mount Roach too, you know Geralt, since she is so big and accustomed to carrying so much heavy things, like that bloody kikimora head last time. But is part of their act, Geralt pretends to not notice the extra pouch of coins that mysteriously Jaskier hide for a hot bath, and Jaskier pretends to not jump out of his body from excitement when Geralt give him something new. Well, Jaskier don’t pretends anything, really. He always talks loud and happy and make new songs when Geralt is nice to him. Geralt even remember see him cry that one time when he did let him mount Roach with him, even if was only because Geralt notice that Jaskier was quieter and slower than usual, obviously exhausted and a little bit feverish too.

But it became a routine. A nice and easy one.

Lately Jaskier glows more than usual, is more chatty than other times and full of energy even if the food is limited and the road long. Is almost like his energy recharged itself from the mere air, but Geralt is not complaining, of course not. A happy Jaskier is a free source of energy to lighten his mood, perhaps Geralt never will tell him this in all his life, but he appreciates it.

When they had known each other for two years and nine months, Jaskier told him about his elven blood.

“I know that is not very common, but is not extremely rare either, you know. Specially for you, my good friend, who might know every creature in the world. I am only the fruit born from an unloving and inattentive husband, and a wife who found love in a wandering elf.”

Jaskier speaks lightly and a little bit fast, Geralt doesn’t even need to smell him to know he’s nervous. But the fragrance hit him anyway, the sour taste of unripe plum, mixed with the normal fresh scent of spring rain and rosin that is Jaskier.

Is not like Geralt didn’t noticed it, the lack of marks in Jaskier skin, the smooth surface always pristine in the time they know each other. The slightly quicker healing of his wounds when they happened too. Is not like Geralt even care. Jaskier could say to him right now that he is a bloody offspring of fae and dragon and Geralt wouldn’t care even then. He is his… friend. Geralt can count with his fingers the amount of people with that title, most of them are Witchers like him. But, Jaskier is his friend, and in this moment, his friend is afraid of his response, if the side glances that is giving him are a proof of it.

“You could say something, I know you love your silences and like to give speeches in low grunting, in which I am obviously a grand connoisseur, obviously, but I would appreciate to hear your glorious voice even for a moment and—”

“Jaskier”

“Yes?”

“I don’t care” He sees the blank expression in the bard face, so clear a little bit his throat and add “, you are Jaskier. I knew you weren’t fully human, and it didn’t stop me to travel with you. You knew that I was a Witcher and knew only my name when you started to follow me, did it ever bother you?”

Jaskier takes a couple of seconds but says “Never.”

“Neither to me. Now, pass me the water.”

If moments later Geralt hears Jaskier crying silently when excuses himself to take a piss, never says anything.

They pass year through year in their little routine, some winters they take different roads, Geralt to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier to Oxenfurt and they reunite again at the beginning of spring. Some others they spend it together in Kaer Morhen and Jaskier finally manages to get to know Geralt's brothers. They are completely opposite to the big brute of his White Wolf and at the same time so familiar that it took basically no time to get along. Who was going to tell him that he had so many thing to talk about with Eskel about poetry and music? he was a so much more talkative fellow than Geralt, so Jaskier has many new creatures to write songs about, so many that even a few ones were dedicated to Eskel itself. The man was so happy and proud of the fact, that he secretly searched for Jaskier to tell him more good stories. In the other hand, Lambert was more prone to ask filthy and funny songs while they dinner, Gods only knew how much the old and grey halls of the tower could do with a little bit of music and life here and then.

In fact, was Lambert who told Jaskier many, many stories about Geralt when they were growing up and more too, so that good old Witcher also have several songs for him to raise his reputation around the world.

Jaskier is happy and full of love. Much happier than he can remember ever being. He feels good, warm, full when is around Geralt. Geralt is protective, rude, sassy and a little prick too, but he is glad to be at his side and help him in any ways he could offer.

On his seventh year of friendship, Jaskier got a little reminder about something he thought he forgot.

When they get to the next town Geralt goes directly to the closest inn and rent a room for the night. Their pouches are heavy with coins thanks to a very good hunting and generous audience for Jaskier songs, so he gets a room with two beds, a luxury not always available. But when Jaskier starts to climb the stairs toward their room, Geralt stay behind.

“Well, are you going to come or not?”

“In a while. I’m going to another place first.”

“Looking for another job so quickly? You must rest sometimes, Geralt. Why don’t you take a bath first and have a nice meal before thinking in sticking your head in another monsters gut?”

They were traveling for almost two weeks before coming to this town, even Jaskier who lately has and extra energy boost, feels drained. He imagines that the Witcher who made all the heavy work must feel something similar to exhaustion, even with the rumor of Witchers unlimited stamina.

“Not a job. Go yourself and get some sleep, I’ll probably be back in a few hours.”

“I can go with you, if you want. Just give me a few moments and I’ll be ready.”

He hears the heavy sigh and arch an eyebrow. Someone is being a little touchy it seems.

“I don’t require your company to do this Jaskier. Unless you need a whore too.”

Oh. Well, a kind of touchy then.

Of course, Jaskier is not a fool, he knows that Geralt needs to relieve that part of himself too, and it’s not the first time that it happens, either. For neither of both. After all, Jaskier is a being of love. Free, selfish and brief love, enough to replenish his tank for a while. But it’s been a great while since Jaskier took someone to bed properly, even more, he cannot pinpoint when was exactly the last time. But that is not important here, see. He knows that Geralt is used to frequents ladies of services, but somehow, now is like a distasteful bucket of icy water is thrown at him for some reason.

“Oh, oh, yeah, I can see why you don’t need me there. Unless you have that particular fetish, I’m not one to judge if you do” silence “Do you?”

“See you around, Jaskier. Stay away from troubles until I’ll back.”

“Of course, yeah, yeah. Have fun!” He yells the last part and swears he sees Geralt smile before disappearing through the door.

When Jaskier make it to the bedroom, the awkward feeling rummaging through his ribs escalate to his chest, heart and throat. He places his lute and baggage sloppily against the first wall and fell face down the bed. It’s hurting. Jaskier clutch his heart, the one that beats painfully heavy, in a useless attempt to appease the pain, but it does nothing. He can feel the little hot water pooling between his eyelashes and rubs his face against the pillow. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

This shouldn’t be happening.

Jaskier bloody promised this to himself, damn it!

The air passing between his lungs is like a bloody iceberg, dry, cold and so painful. He feels his throat burning, he wants to scream, but he’s not going to.

He’s not going to give Marnie this pleasure.

He doesn’t feel anything for Geralt that can provoke the curse to work. And if he must repeat this every day of his life from now on, so be it. Jaskier is a being of love, and as such, he never loves something to himself only. That’s selfish and stupid. Fuck you, Marnie. Your fucking curse is broken. Ha! Jaskier try to laugh, but the cracked sound scratches his numb ears.

Fuck.

He is not, under no possible circumstance, in love of Geralt of Rivia. It’s impossible. Such a bad idea that he can’t even begin to name the reasons.

He is a brute, he doesn’t take care of himself, he forgets many times to get some sleep, he doesn’t notice when Jaskier is thrumming a new melody and doesn’t either know the names of the songs he composes in his honor. Such an ungrateful prick. He doesn’t let Jaskier mount on Roach if there is not a life threat, even when he cries that he’s exhausted. Which, very rude, Geralt. He doesn’t notice when he buys a new scented oil for his Witcher hair, not even notice the time that it took Jaskier to know the oils adequately soft for his sensible nose. Geralt never says thank you. Geralt is such a fucking arsehole!

But then, Jaskier know that’s not true either.

And that makes him cry now.

It’s unfair. It’s simply unfair. Jaskier loves many things and many people, maybe… maybe this one will vanish is he doesn’t pay too much attention.

If he doesn’t think in the warming smile Geralt gives him sometimes, or the softness of his hair after a long bath brushing and untangled it to make it shinier and snowy and so pretty. If he doesn’t think about melted gold pools, which sparkle in the correct light of the day and sunset and in occasions also in the dark of night, ablaze from the heat of the fire in their camp.

But he cannot. And he knows it. So, fuck it.

He was going to fall himself apart only when Geralt wasn’t around, and that will have to work.

Because there is no fucking way that Jaskier could stop being in love of Geralt of Rivia.

He cannot say if were minutes or hours, but when finally the pain was acceptable and the swollen of his eyes lull him to sleep, Jaskier swears he can hear Marnie laughter in his head.


	2. Break up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I hope you like the story so far, there's only one more chapter! in which i had so, so much fun while writing it so I hope you'll like it the same.  
> Again, I apologize for the broke english, please let me know If you find some typo!

Jaskier is a being of love, and Jaskier makes himself a being of casual pain too.

Since the discovery about his not so shallow feelings for Geralt, Jaskier put in his head the mission of finding love in every single possible way. He makes more songs about random people, he marvels in the variety of creatures Geralt kills in his huntings, until the last tinny and ugliest one of them. Jaskier finds love everywhere. Geralt even comment about that one time, when their stay in the last town took a couple more days if only because the beast on it was difficult to trace.

“We are in here since four days ago, and that was at least the sixth person you bed”

Jaskier, very concentrate on his bowl of stew, look up at Geralt with an innocent smile. “Why, I didn’t know you were counting of my conquers, my friend. Are you interested in some of them, perhaps? Margaret is a specialist with her mouth, if you know what I mean.”

The funny innuendo didn’t lessen the scowl on Geralt’s face “You’re being reckless. The bard traveling with a Witcher shouldn’t attract that kind of attention. You might be killed while I’m out hunting.”

And that wasn’t a strange prospect on Jaskier’s head, to be honest. They were supposed to be blend in with the shadows when out in unknown places as this one, where you don’t know if the innkeeper or someone else is trying to sell information about the butcher of Blaviken and, his most recent moniker, his bard-whore. But this option is better than the other, if you ask Jaskier. He prefers to be killed by some vengeful and stupid villager or whoever than have no distraction and call the curse on him by thinking in silly Geralt of Rivia and all his perfection. Or perfect in Jaskier eyes at least. Because, c’mon, you must literally be blind to not notice those muscles, and that splendid face with enough sharp in its chin to whet his blades.

And boy there was a kind of polishing Jaskier could offer to do to certain blade of Geralt too.

Anyway, the point is Jaskier would not keep himself away from a body if he could keep Marnie’s curse in the depths of his mind. But, clearly, that’s not the answer Geralt is looking for, so he humors him.

“Fine, you have a point there. What about this, maybe I can bed people only when you’re nearby? You’ll be like my bodyguard and—okay no, I read it in your face. You know you have a really expressive face for all your lack of words?”

“I don’t care what you do, but if I got stuck in the middle, the one to kill you is going to be me.”

No one can say that Geralt doesn’t charm with his words.

So, even if Jaskier is absolutely sure that Geralt never be able to kill him, in a ninety percent sure, he does reduce his bedpartners. And as long as he has other things to distract himself, everything works fine. They are few the times when all hell breaks and Jaskier must rent a room for himself or wander very far away from Geralt to prevent him to notice. Jaskier works very hard in his pain tolerance and thanks to that the curse is almost imperceptible by now. If you are accustomed to break your bones and ingest poison for breakfast, you sure as hell could succeed the pain as the tender touch of a lover.

But then, Destiny must hate Jaskier very much. He sometimes asks himself if it is for his joyful and carefree way of live, and if that is really the reason, then Jaskier has to say to Destiny that she is a jealous bitch in lack of a long nap or a little fuck maybe.

Jaskier, for all his reputation, do has some good smart brain to comprehend his feelings, so he better than no one knows he is deep shit in love of Geralt. He doesn’t need to prove it, the times when his feet moved alone to distract beasts ready to chop Geralt’s head were enough to lost count of them. Most of the times it went well, only a small scratch or a ruined set of clothes. It is worth it for Geralt safety, and in fact, the angry speech by the Witcher that come later is far worse.

But in less fortunate opportunities, Jaskier get more than simple scratches.

“Could you please try and not rip my leg in this process?”

Geralt is kneeling over his left leg, where a nasty and dark cut it bubbles. He has his face more rigid and closed than normally, not even looking at Jaskier while cleaning the wound with a handful of colorful vials and salves. Jaskier is not a baby, thank you very much, but his leg is on fire and perhaps he does have the itching necessity to sob a little. But he refrains to do it, Jaskier can reads Geralt like an open book so he is sure that this time Geralt is, honest to god upset. 

He even tries to make another joke, but an abrupt sweep of the ointment over his wound silences him. Well, Geralt, nobody can say you don't have some delicates ways to shut someone up. Despite his best struggle Jaskier can’t keep a groan. A ghoul poison is certainly unpleasant, just the smell is enough to make you throw up, but the infection that come altogether is definitely the worst part. Not even his elf blood can help much, so Jaskier just close his eyes and thinks in warm evenings bathing in the sun, with the fever picking up quickly, it isn’t a difficult thing to imagine. A nice beach over the coast, the soothing salty smell of ocean waving peaceful, sand dancing between his toes. Ah, Jaskier can do this.

If Marnie teach him something over the years, is that his mind is a powerful little thing, reliable to fly to lovely places free of monsters and sorceresses and dreadful ghouls, in order to ignore the pain.

He got better with the years, so now Jaskier can mix a fantasy Geralt in there too. A Geralt who never gets mad at him, who learns the lyrics of the songs Jaskier make for him, who walk side by side on the beach with his soft and silver hair dancing in the calm breeze. This Geralt is his refuge, one who Jaskier can seek every time the real one is too much to handle. A Geralt who holds him at night and smiles at him as if Jaskier holds the answer to make all the problems of the world go away.

This Geralt kiss him sometimes, but that is a resource of extreme need.

Because if Jaskier live too much time in his fantasy, then the real Geralt would be beyond all bearing of pain. Jaskier can suffer alone just some to not forget that there is the feeling, the beautiful and aching feeling of loving Geralt, but to imagine a fairy tale where they both can be together is way more painful, so Jaskier avoids it. Jaskier will only came to kiss fantasy Geralt when real Geralt would be in the embrace of someone else, and the heat of a willing body in Jaskier's bed would not be enough to forget it. Because there are those times. In which Jaskier can't put Marnie's voice in the depths, where his mind only wants to reach for Geralt and his body warm, his slow, so slow heart rate... and even if is just for a moment, a fleeting unconscious moment of weakness, Jaskier wants to say in Geralt's face and the whole world if necessary, how deep in love he was. But Jaskier never will do that. He values the time beside Geralt in the humble way Geralt can offer it, his friendship means more to Jaskier than anything else, Jaskier could forget every single person he met in his life just to be able to be by Geralt as long as he'll permit it.

Jaskier thought in telling Geralt about the curse, but then he could've start to notice the symptoms every time he says something about ex-lovers or whores who did a remarkable job. And those were one of the few times Geralt was willing to be open about things other than monsters and guts and people who wanted to kill him. You see, Geralt has a big repertory to talk about, but you need to push an exact combination of buttons before he does it. Jaskier is an expert in this too.

Geralt of Rivia is his masterpiece in discoveries. And if he must endure eternal agony for this masterpiece Jaskier wouldn’t hesitate a blink.

Jaskier is a being of love and now of casual pain moreover, and that is perfect for him.

“You are stupid.” The gruff voice wakes Jaskier out of his fantasy, a shame really, he was getting at the good part. It takes him a while to focus properly on the face, the fever is doing a splendid job already. “You could’ve died in there. It wasn’t the first ghoul we faced; you must know by now how lethal they could be. But obviously It was my mistake, I thought you for someone smarter, someone who actually would listen when I said to stay the fuck away.”

The bard has to fight to not smile a little, it isn’t the right moment he knows it, but to see clear as water that Geralt’s anger is due to at least a tiny bit of concern for Jaskier’s life, sparks a kind of warm feeling in his belly. “It was… very hidden. You were occupied with the AL ‘ghoul… and I just happened to be near it when it jumps at you. Honestly, that was more me trying to be the hero for once and less you don’t be capable of killing them all”

“You don’t need to be the fucking hero, Jaskier! I was trained for years; you are just a bard with a very long life who apparently wish to shorten it. I could've handled that without you in there, how many times has this happened already?”

“A few” Jaskier provides, unhelpful, if the deeper scowl is a clue. And maybe is the fever loosening his tongue, but Jaskier continue. “And is going to happen again, probably. Not because I don’t trust you, because I do, I never trusted someone as much as you. Surely you only need to say a few words and I’ll happily give my life for it—”

“I’ll never ask you to do such a thing, Jaskier”

Jaskier is going to pretend to not be affected by the hurt in Geralt’s voice. “Exactly. You, Geralt of Rivia, easily jump in front of every single thing that represents a risk to my safety and even so, never complain. Human, creature, poisoned food, you make me safe in all the possible ways… but never look up after yourself with the same attention. So… I’ll do it for you. You are my important person, and if I must die to repay you the favor, I’ll gladly do it. My life wasn’t even that interesting before you, shocking as it sounds. Sure, I had my music, fame and people loving me, many people passed through my life but—neither of them could begin to embody the importance of your constant grumpy presence now. So please… please don’t be mad at me... you… I—”

Later, Jaskier would probably blame on the infection and the high fever his verbiage.

Right now, while he closes his eyes for a second and the beautiful face of young Marnie appears in his head mocking him, perhaps must admit at least to himself that it was a good try to grab courage and finally tell Geralt everything. Testing the waters, you might say, try to understand how much truth Marnie held when she promised him to never be able to reach love.

Nevertheless, Jaskier understood it when imaginary Marnie’s hand tights his heart and the painful screams began. Jaskier has the excuse of the infection to hide the curse this time at least. The perfect excuse for all the fucking pain that not even the ghoul’s poison could inflict. Yeah, okay, maybe Jaskier polished his pain-ranking at a considerable high measure, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a horde of harpies tearing his insides. Fortunately, he fainted in the middle, so the next thing Jaskier remembers is a fire well fed very close to him, soft neighs surely by Roach, and the strangest thing is of course the light touch of a hand, a feather-touch over his head. Jaskier feels cold and a shiver runs through his spine, but a blanket that apparently was at his shoulders is now right under his nose. Jaskier doesn’t move, he is sure the fever didn’t go down entirely, but he doesn’t need more than his instincts to know that is Geralt under the bedroll and the covers with him the source of the delicious heat which is making him sleep again. Jaskier snuggles against the heat and doesn't wake up again until daylight illuminates the entire forest around.

Jaskier’s first awareness is his left leg yet in its place with a clean bandage and the strong scent of salve against it. It can’t have more than a couple of minutes there; it hurts still but nothing in contrast with yesterday. Roach is nearby munching on grass, she just moves her ears in recognition to Jaskier moving. He tries to get up and is more than happy to ascertain that he makes it, although with the help of the big tree behind him. And no, is not an appellation to Geralt this time. And talking about Geralt, where is he now?

“You shouldn’t move too much yet”

“Hey! Geralt my friend, I see I still have my right reasons about putting a bell on you, eh. What a wonderful stealthy foot you have there.”

Geralt, who brings a couple of rabbits on his hands smiles a little to this nonsense and Jaskier suddenly feels incredible better.

"How do you feel?"

"Wonderful. Maybe I developed an immunity to ghouls’ venom through the years. Not that I had that many encounters in proximity, for the record. But there’s no fever and I don’t feel any pain, well, not many pain. I'm as good as I can and better even. You have nothing to worry about, my dear Witcher. Except maybe for the details I'm going to press you to tell me about for my new song."

“Hmm” Geralt puts the rabbits on the floor and look directly at Jaskier for a moment. The serious glare of Geralt was unnerving like hell sometimes. “You won’t do that again,” Jaskier opens his mouth to reply, but the strong words are faster. "I'm serious, Jaskier. You try one more time to save me from something, I kill you myself."

Deep inside Jaskier knows that this is the ideal moment to play fool and assure the mighty Geralt that the hero world isn't suited for him, that Jaskier is only going to focus on ballads and heroic songs that show the world the Witcher's prowess instead. But, lo and behold, he finds himself uncapable of telling that lie.

Maybe, the realization of the lack of a world where they both can be together as more than friends is the one talking by itself. At any rate, the bard walks slowly and a little bit lame until being face to face with Geralt.

"I'm sorry, but no. I can't lie to you and promise something like that. I know you are more than capable of taking care of both of us, three with Roach, actually. But if someday, for whatever reason, you need help and I'm there, most probably is that I'll move by instinct and help you. You say you'll kill me, but if you are the one who dies in front of me, when I could have done something to avoid it, then I too would die right there with you. I said this already, but you are my very important friend, and I’ve never believed in one-sided relationships, so, you risk your life for me, I risk my life for you. No matter what you say, that’s never going to change."

The next few minutes (seconds?) are a pregnant silence in where none of them move. Geralt is piercing Jaskier under those golden eyes, such a beautiful golden, so distracting to semi-human Jaskier who follows their light like moths to the flames. Jaskier is accustomed to the Witcher silence but this is unnerving, no doubt he just made a fucking confession if just disguised so. The curse is not there trying to kill him, so he is sure is not a truly romantic confession. Unbiased a humble bard loving like he knows, carefree, without chains and for a completely selfish reason. For real, what could be possible more selfish than to keep Geralt to his side just for the pleasure to see him every day?

When the silence become real discomfort, Jaskier is about to tell some stupid joke to lighten the mood, even sing a meaningless improvisation which involves Roach and her neighing, but suddenly Geralt sighs and smile so, so small and quick that if Jaskier hadn't be looking right at his face he probably would have miss it.

"You are a lot more stupid that I thoughted."

"Ah... thank you?"

"My pleasure. C'mon, it’s your turn to clean the food."

"Oh, yeah, yes of course, what a splendid task! one that could leave you, if you wish."

"Grab the knife, Jaskier, your turn."

Later, Jaskier would call that day as the miraculous one where their relationship took an unexpected turn. Geralt started to rely a little more in Jaskier's abilities, of course not so often in a fight but yes in many other things. For example, Geralt speaks more about the oils that he uses on his swords for the different creatures and he also teaches him the potions and his names, that data is actually a lot useful for cases where Geralt is unable to grab his bag alone, and you’ll be surprised to know how often that is. Jaskier sometimes forget the names but uses the colors to distinguish them and even creates a song to help it. The blue one never should be grabbed if he doesn't want Geralt's blood to turn into poison. The yellowish one is for seeing in the darkness, the red one is to recover health and the baby blue with pink stops bleedings. There are many more, but Geralt assure him that those wasn't of frequent use and Jaskier doesn't need to memorize them, which doesn't stop him to do it anyway. He feels more energized being of real help for Geralt, know a little bit further into the wisdom of that deep man full of secrets.

The years to come pass in the blink of an eye. Jaskier keeps himself in love of as many things as he can grab for the benefit of not thinking about Geralt in excess, sometimes he makes it, sometimes not so well. But he got accustomed. The pain was almost insignificant now and when not, Jaskier just excused with the lie of a partner waiting for him in someplace and suffer alone and far away from Geralt.

But being together became an addictive drug. Geralt was prone to let Jaskier wash his hair every time they afford a bath, and if Jaskier took in those moments a little longer than strictly necessary neither comment on it. The Witcher also tolerates a lot better the friendly touches of Jaskier, a quick arm around his neck, a light bump on his shoulder and also the snuggles together on the colder nights out in the elements. For some reason it makes Jaskier smells awesome, not that he usually isn’t… tasty? But the simple-mindedness of his have a unique combination that Geralt… appreciate. He guides himself by his nose almost always, is easy to know a person by smelling his true intentions. In all his Witcher years not even once he failed, but Jaskier is something entirely apart, he offers Geralt a free taste of every emotion that pass through him.

When Jaskier is happy he smells like spring rain on dry earth, like rosin of his lute, mint and lemon balm. Is a soothing scent, fresh and clean, it took him only six months to memorize it. He searches for this scent every time they are apart and can have a track of Jaskier even miles away.

Those are his basics scents, but they change a little when influenced by new factors. Scared Jaskier have a distinct hint of unripe plum, bitter orange and green apple, something acid and difficult to ease.

Angry Jaskier is like an electric storm, it's a smell very charged and strong, ozone and salt sea with a trace of burning wood.

One of Geralt’s least favorites is sad Jaskier. He smells like a downpour sinking the normal forest of his scent, muddy water, a mix of all kinds of aromatic herbs he can’t put name to all of them and cypress. Is like a hurricane without anger but with the same force to drag everything on its way.

Most recently Geralt add new smells to happy Jaskier, ones that never quite fade. A mouth-watering taste of silky butter, melted sugar and cinnamon. Is yet a task to decipher which feeling this is but is not doubt the Witcher enjoy it as much as he can.

So, all in all, everything is perfect.

Jaskier is happy, in love of the world and useful for his real love, the one who never will know and that's okay, nothing can be wrong.

But then, everything goes wrong.

In the spur of a blink, hell breaks its fire on the earth.

Pavetta and Dunny, the Child Surprise, Nilfgaard marching to war, the Djinn.

And above all, one Yennefer of Vengerberg.

See, you might think by now that with all the effort and years and years of training, Jaskier is a mastermind in cover his suffer, but in all honesty, it seems that Jaskier didn't know real pain until then.

When the Djinn matter was history, Jaskier's throat was freed from the tumor and he found himself with a new appreciation for his life and very good ideas for new songs, he thought that was it. The worst has already happened and now they move on, like they always do.

But this is the exact moment when Jaskier finds Geralt appreciating the miracle of life also, with the sorceress who saved Jaskier’s life under him, in the tower that had collapsed a few instants ago.

You see, Jaskier is a being of love, and he assured himself that he is a being who can tolerate pain and accept Geralt's love affairs as well.

Jaskier was wrong.

Until this moment he not once experienced the real true pain, the kind of pain surely Marnie was expecting him to feel when she puts this bloody curse on him. Jaskier is knowing this pain and wants to return it immediately. He wants to put a formal complaint about it. He never, not in his worst nightmares, imagine this kind of hurt was even possible.

He assures himself that he has a couple of minutes to get away from Geralt before the full curse burst, but his feet only made it to a few rows of trees before his mouth swallows’ dirt and grass. Chireadan the elf is apparently there to watch him, so he hurries in helping him and offers some water, but Jaskier is very much occupied in trying to get some air into his lungs that doesn't feel like a knife of icy poison cutting him all the way in. He doesn’t notice his eyes emptying themself until a clean cloth is drying them softly.

Jaskier can handle pain, the aching and suffocating feeling as well-known as his own lute by now is expected, the _hollow_ in his chest on the other hand, is a religious experience. A very unpleasant and nothing bearable experience in his opinion and he very much will trade it for his simple pain right now, thank you. The green and ugly jealousy eating him up thanks to the beauty-beyond-this-world sorceress fucking with Geralt right now, is obviously not enough to Destiny.

“It seems to me you attract all kinds of danger to your life, my fellow. It’s not my field of expertise, but I’d say that is quite a curse you have there. Does the Witcher know? Would you like me to tell him in order to help you?”

The soft voice is soothing, and while he cannot stop crying for dear life, at least he feels supported by. But Jaskier shakes his head vigorously, not knowing if what he tries to say is that Geralt doesn’t know yet or that under no circumstances he must know it, both probably. Chireadan doesn’t press more, instead he forces a bitter liquid through Jaskier’s throat that make him coughs in the combination of the lack of air and the tears.

“Don’t worry, this is just a muscle relaxant. I’m afraid is not going to be of great help but is something. We use this in the women on labor and it does its miracle.”

Chireadan sits beside the ball that is the bard right now and traces soft circles on his back. Jaskier knows it must be a pathetic sight, he looks like a child who fell from the highest tree and break his arm. A cry without consolation and for the simple purpose of trying to fill a sudden void in his chest. The blessed man stays in silence until Jaskier can talk, when the feeling of what must be the beverage working, makes all his body feel like goo.

Jaskier never thought in how exhilarating could be to tell at least one person about this bloody curse. Marnie, the Countess and even his overwhelming love for Geralt, the same fucking Geralt who didn’t wait more than a minute to stick his cock in the first warm hole that he found. His jelly chest feels dozed, sleepy, and without that distraction in his head the bard says all he could never tell Geralt, he makes of good and noble Chireadan his confident. And the elf lets him. Long minutes, long hours, maybe long days. Jaskier doesn't keep track of the time, although when he stops talking the day seem the same. Between his ramble and crying Chireadan managed to make him sip a little of water, so Jaskier feels lighter than ever but with a heaviness non-existent there, until yesterday at least, pressing over his chest whose doesn't look like it’s going to fade soon.

“I’m sorry for bleeding your ear out. You are a wonderful friend, maybe I could put some of your charm in a couple of songs to thank you,” Jaskier’s voice sound stuffy and hoarse, but he puts on a smile while resting his head in the shoulder of his very good friend. “thirty-three years with this curse, and you are the first one in hearing me, a wonderful job, by the way. Who might say I only needed to vent it out to feel better, I’ve could do it years ago. And your beverage, I’m one hundred percent sure that thing did magic in me too. Perhaps I'll ask you to make me some for the road”

“It’ll be a pleasure. Do you feel good to stand up?” Jaskier nods and accepts the hand. He hopes his eyes doesn’t seem so puffy as they feel. That would be a shitty sight. The bard who makes love songs, crying for dear life over a heartbreak. An irony was in there he’s sure. “Geralt mustn’t be far, we can hide a little more if that’s what you want.”

“Oh, if only I could wish for that. But you’ll see, my foolish heart it doesn’t understand self-preservation. There is no biggest wanting for me than to be near that cranky man who loves powerful and scary women. A sorceress, of all the odds, it had to be a sorceress! I think that bothers me more than his eager and friendly cock.”

Bullshit. All his babbling wasn’t more than bullshit. His heart aches, the emptiness doesn’t fade away and the dreadful feeling either. Jaskier is suffering a heartache and you can’t put pretty words on that. He wants nothing more than to crawl in a big bed and don’t come out until everything fade away. Chireadan seems to notice it too, but for all the hesitation he has, gives Jaskier a shy hug to comfort him. And maybe is due to a touch-starvation repressed by the years, but Jaskier melt on it. He hugs back with need. Chireadan pats softly on his back, like a man who tries to soothe a fragile child for the first time. In other circumstances I’d could’ve be fun, but now is a gesture very much appreciated. When finally, they break apart, Chireadan guides Jaskier to where he has his bags and gives him two little vials. “The same potion I gave you there. It’s not going to fix anything to long place, but at least it can help if it happens again” The ‘when’ isn’t said but it’s there anyway. The bard grabs the crystal and puts it safe in his trousers until he can grab his stuff.

And with the timing of a rooster singing to the sunrise, Geralt is unexpectedly there. He looks sated, happy and with years of burden lifted of his face. Jaskier’s chest sting, but he smiles at him. “Are we ready?”

Geralt open his mouth but says nothing. He looks odd at Jaskier and Chireadan as if trying to solve a puzzle, he even scowls a little. But finally nods “I’ll go find Roach,”

“Right, I’ll wait here then.”

Jaskier doesn’t wants to say out loud that being close to Geralt is more than he can handle at the moment, so he talks to Chireadan, like if they were doing exactly that before Geralt came. He talks about a song of a mermaid and a fisher who paid twice his weight in gold to heard him sing it about its years ago, when he traveled alone. It’s a childish thing to do, though it works, since Geralt just walks away without any word.

They part ways with the promise to meet in the future and, after four days, Jaskier breathes normally again. His chest hurts but just so, his fingers thrums cords with the potential of such magnificent songs that nothing is strong enough to down his mood. Geralt, by the other hand, could do better with a speck of Jaskier energy. He seems sullen, even for him. He keeps his mouth shut a lot more too, but Jaskier doesn’t insist on keeping him talking this time. The silences make him good until he can be normal again, only a few more days. So, by almost a week they travel in peace and quiet.

What Jaskier didn’t know was that Geralt only give him space because he smells wrong. Not wrong in the ‘you need a bath’ kind of way, rather… sad. His fresh scent of mint and lemon balm with soft rain was dulled, drowned by heavy rain and windless hurricane. When he screams and talks loud and even if he laughs while singing, no matter if some of the happy smell are there, since that day in Rinde Jaskier never stop smelling like cypress. And is not a work for Geralt to try and guess why that is, although he suspects has something to do with certain elf.

None of them speak about Rinde for years and then one day, while they were staying in an inn, the generous amount of ale to celebrate a good hunting where Geralt kill a monster terrorizing that town for years loosened something in the Witcher. That day, Geralt told him what the third wish was. He told Jaskier how his fate was now united to Yennefer’s. And Jaskier was dumbstruck. The catchy tune playing on his lute stopped, Jaskier was silent looking at him intently before blinking once, twice, thrice… and then he was out the inn before Geralt could comprehend what just happened.

Jaskier didn’t show up 'til two days later. He showed up smelling to strong perfume, alcohol and some cloying oil splashed over his head. But above all, Jaskier smell like storm, burning wood and cypress. He never mentions it again, so Geralt didn’t either.

Then, the dragon hunt.

It all begins well enough, Borch, Téa and Véa are funny and pleasurable travel companions. The women rarely talk but the man speak enough for all of them. He hides wise behind his words and Jaskier likes that. He grabs interesting pieces of creatures and stories to make at least three new songs, so he’s happy.

As happy as could be seeing Geralt running behind Yennefer’s skirt, of course.

Jaskier avoids thinking on that confession of the Djinn wish, he is mature enough to understand that no matter how hard he fights; he never could’ve been in the sorceress place. He doesn’t want to either, thank you very much. Jaskier will die as the renown White Wolf bard's and that'll be perfect for him. He still haves Fantasy Geralt, whom is much better than the real. Fantasy Geralt heals Jaskier’s bruised heart with soft caresses and sweet words. Jaskier is considering proposing to that Geralt, their relationship is better than many written in fairytales.

But Jaskier knows he dreams too far. He has still that need to be closer to Geralt, to being capable of joke by his side and to irritate every last nerve in him. Jaskier wants his few smiles, his bad jokes, all his bad temper. He wants to be forever with gorgeous Roach and sing praises toward them for as long as his life permit it. Jaskier even tries to say that to Geralt while on the mountain, hinting a travel to the coast, a new start, both of them. But Geralt doesn’t heard him, he’s more worried about Yennefer and their future together.

This time Jaskier manages his pain as to make it seems unseen, but still Borch pats his back with a sympathetic smile. Great. Now even this man knows about his unrequited love, everybody knows it except for the person involved.

Nobody would’ve dare to say the Great White Wolf was so dense.

Nevertheless, is okay. Jaskier will try again. He doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s sure that magic-forced union between the Witcher and the sorceress will not end very well.

If someone would’ve told Jaskier how close that day would be.

He sees the moment all goes to shit, Yennefer fuming and stomping her way out. Jaskier knows better than to approach Geralt right now, but he _has_ to. He must try, maybe now than Yennefer is out of his (their) life, Geralt would have seconds thoughts about Jaskier’s idea of a trip to the coast. A while out of the heavy Witcher life, Jaskier would sing everyday to make him relax properly, to have fun and make good memories together. Something that was a bit lacking in all the years they traveled, actually.

_Find what pleases you._

Obviously, it wasn’t Jaskier’s better day to make any assumptions.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

“Right… uh…”

Jaskier is speechless. Not in lack of words per se, speechless in the kind of ‘I’m gonna break myself if talks too much’ way. It’s not the first time experiencing Geralt’s wrath, it is however, the first time Geralt is aiming all that hate and guilt over him.

It feels wrong. It’s _so damn_ painful.

And he knows it’s petty to think that if only Jaskier were a certain sorceress, maybe none of this would be happening.

Jaskier manages to mumble. “See you around, Geralt.”

However, Geralt doesn’t even bless him with a goodbye look, so Jaskier turns around and starts to walk.

Jaskier walks as if his body were possessed. He doesn’t think, doesn’t cry, doesn’t scream.

He walks, walks faster, jogs and walks again. He can breathe fine; he probably can do it to the foot of the mountain by today. He doesn’t need no Witcher to show him the way back. No, sir. Jaskier only needs to keep walking. When he passes the camp sees the dwarves already lifting the last pieces, he thinks he hears someone saying something on his side, but he keeps walking. Jaskier doesn’t see nor hear anybody. After all, Jaskier is making sure to fulfill Geralt’s wish. And for hours, he’ll walk.

The last light of the day fades soon and he keep going. It’s actually nice, now that he thinks it. His body is good, unharmed, painless, plenty of energy. He doesn’t need to think never again in Marnie, it appears. Maybe, with enough luck, the curse broke and now he’s free. Maybe all it took was a little of raw hurt by Geralt’s mouth to make him understand once and for all that what Jaskier wished is never meant to be. Perhaps this was the bitter cure for his sickness. Slightly bitter than he would’ve wish, but hey, if it lifted successfully the spell then he has no complaints. Ah, that would be nice, so nice. The things Jaskier could do now are immense! He isn’t capable of remember the last time he felt so good, there would be a song or two about this, that’s for sure. Where what his lute, now? Whatever. He just needs to find a new one, for now, only walk.

What a fresh and lovely evening. The warm breeze tickling his face feels amazing, a little wet, but amazing, nonetheless. And why would it be wet, now? Jaskier doesn’t stop to think. He does think however, in the splendid banquet full of good ale and wine he’s going to order the moment he finds a new town. Oh, yes. He has a full pouch of coins ready to be spent it, now that he doesn’t need to save anything for hot baths for dirty Witchers. Stupid Witchers. Ungrateful and hurtful fucking Witchers. Yeah, not anymore.

The only thing he regrets is that he won't be able to see Roach anymore. Sweet Roach, for whom he bought a new brush in the last village and now realize he never could use it. What a shame. Maybe he decides to get a horse for himself to make proper use of the brush, who knows. The only assurance Jaskier has, is that he would work hard to get back his old life, full of beautiful bodies and warm beds. Why did he ever trade that for a nomadic rustic life in nature? He was completely out of his mind, no doubt.

Jaskier plans to sing in courts again, a detour to Oxenfurt sounds good too. He can visit some of his old friends, trade one or two letters with them to make them know of his returning. Chireadan had been invited him to his house in Dol Blathanna not for the first time, so maybe he meets him there, use the time to clear his mind for a while. Yeah, this sounds so much more like the life he knows and used to love.

The bard thinks he’s almost out of the mountain, he must be, he walked for hours. There’s still some light so he keeps his rhythm, step, step, step, step. He stumbles a couple of times with very well-hidden roots and rocks, but he feels no pain, so he continues.

When Jaskier finally manages to get to an open field still on top of the mountain, reality hits him.

He isn’t breathing. He gulps big mouthfuls of air who don’t made it to his lungs, his head is spinning, he feels dizzy to the point of fainting. His body is numb, Jaskier sees clear cuts and scratches of his fallings, but they don’t hurt. Not even the ugly one in his left leg which is bleeding profusely. Why they don’t hurt? Even a tiny little bit of sting should be felt, but it doesn’t. At least he’s not screaming, if only because he can’t manage the air to do so.

This is not Marnie’s curse. This is purely Jaskier, having a panic attack due to shock.

A shock due to a few harsh words, what a shameful death, honestly. He wishes the person who finds him tell a more heroic version, add some monsters defeated with his last breath. Something that makes the name of Jaskier the bard be remembered for other thing besides songs of praise to the White Wolf. Songs of unrequited love very well disguise.

At least he’s thankful for his lack of pain, Jaskier doubt he could surpass both things at the same time. This _feels_ like dying, the curse probably would finish the job.

However, over the hard floor of rocks, a humble bard bent over his belly discover just how much he is hated by the world when the numb of his body is still there, but in his heart a bomb explode. Jaskier does scream this time. A broken, painful and heartbreaking scream. Ha, heartbreaking, see what he did there?

“Fuck!—”

If he makes it alive of this, Jaskier swears over his life as a musician he’ll never be even close to a sorceress in all his life. Not a witch, nor Witcher, nor sorceress. As far away of magic as possible.

Most probably he wouldn’t need to make that promise as he’s sure he’ll die right here.

Jaskier's forehead is clammy and covered in blood from the heavy blows to the ground, in a foolish attempt to quell the pain. Why, why does it had to be he the one to annoy sweet Marnie all those years ago? Why did she choose this kind of revenge? Not a single drop of innovation, if he’s allowed to say it. She could’ve made of Jaskier an animal, turn him to a willow tree even, all would’ve desirable than this.

It is an easy fact for Jaskier to guarantee that being stabbed by a rusty sword coated in poison and brandished by an inebriated monkey would be a quicker and more pleasant death than this. The implosion blowing up all his insides makes him cry, that much he can tell. Hell, he challenges anyone to try not to cry while subjected to this.

Jaskier has lost everything important in his life in the span of a day, he cares little to nothing if once and for all this fucking thing kills him. He’s hollow, hurt and alone. The only person on the face of the earth capable of put such pitiful and pessimistic thoughts in his head already did the job. Geralt doesn’t want him near anymore and without that, what does Jaskier has?

Would Geralt ever realize how much Jaskier put himself aside in order to being with him? Probably not. And the worst, the most alarming thing, is that despite all that Jaskier is sure if given the opportunity, he would do it again. He fucking loves (loved?) Geralt. Maybe he’s a shitty man and friend too, he never would know Jaskier's love and that’s okay.

Jaskier knows that he was happier next to Geralt that in all his astonishing promiscuous life. He regrets nothing.

“Please… please… please…”

Stop it already. Please, just end this. Kill him now and have some mercy for how good he endured this fucking curse over the years. A show of lenience in the last minutes of a poor half-elf. Jaskier is not a devoted man, but he prays. Over and over and over, he prays some deity to end his misery.

And when a slender hand finally shows up in front of his blurred eyes, his prayers are heard. 

Jaskier close his eyes and feels nothing more.


	3. Freedom -Part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here I bring the continuation, I must clarify that I planned this to be the last chapter, but due to unforeseen situations, I had to divide it into two parts! So the real ending will be around here in the next update: 'c  
> Thank you very much for the kudos and beautiful words ♥  
> I hope you enjoy it!

For all the heightened senses of a Witcher, Geralt of Rivia is a complete sucker to acknowledge feelings. Own and others, all are the same, the mighty Witcher doesn’t need them to kill beasts properly and make his alchemy to survive. He survived many years alone in the road with Roach and not even once felt the need to understand something so human like the feelings. They are _ridiculous_. They cloud your senses and put your life at risk in a fight, where the only appropriate thing to feel is _nothing_. Geralt is not a rock either, mind you. Of course he also have the ability to feel, just… duller than average. He loves his horse, he has people who he refers to as his brothers, he loves a good brewing and a peaceful night by the fire.

Geralt has feelings, but is a sucker to acknowledge them, and for a reason.

He honestly thought that what he felt on his chest when he looked at Yennefer was love. He still believes it, though she let him know with enough opinion and less sweet words that Geralt is, apparently, confused. She actually said something around the “you’re out of your fucking mind” circle. Geralt doesn’t think so. His chest felt lively around her, his blood hotter, Geralt never before remember a time where he has felt the same, so it has to be love. What else could it be? What other reason could be for him feeling like utter shit now, knowing that his stupidity broke their relationship, maybe forever? That he lost the woman he (thinks) loved and the one who might understand him better than no one?

Feeling are exhausting.

After he made of Jaskier his target of outburst, just because he was the only one near, he also felt like shit. Even worse than with Yennefer. So, so much worse. Geralt thinks this is due to the lack of guilt for Jaskier’s part this time. The bard usually makes Geralt mad, extremely so, but for stupid things and fleeting moreover. This time Jaskier wasn’t at fault at all and he knew it.

Feelings are stupid. Why does Geralt has to feel so awful now? He never even cared what other people thought of him before! but to know that the only person who stayed by his side for so many years may think of Geralt as a little fucker who sent him to fly only for a woman whom he met twice in his life, makes his nerves twitch. So, after a few hours which Geralt uses to settle himself, he begins the road to the camp. Geralt doesn’t do apologies either, but perhaps he can create a way to make Jaskier understand that he probably… does… that.

Fuck.

His life was so much easier when he traveled only with Roach.

Geralt make his pace slowly, giving himself some time to finish the speech he’s going to give Jaskier. Jaskier is an easy man, he knows Geralt better than no one, perhaps his brothers knew a lot about Geralt growing up, embarrassing stories of youth and battles too, but the bard knows every single facet of _Geralt_. So, most probably, Jaskier would know that what happened up there was just Geralt bursting due to an overload of stupid feelings that he didn’t even wanted to begin with. Jaskier will give Geralt a word or two about being nice, I don’t sing praises about you just for you to be a little shit with me, Geralt. Maybe decides to not talk to him, that happened too in occasions, and it'll be fine for Geralt. He’ll appreciate the silence when he feels like licking his injuries.

It’s going to be fine. This is not their first quarrel, Jaskier is a grown-up man, though sometimes he didn’t look like one. Probably now he’s questioning everyone about their version of the story to make new songs, or something like that, Geralt admittedly wasn’t paying too much attention when he spoked. He also thinks he heard him playing a new melody recently, but it was way slower than usually, so probably not a song. Jaskier has wordless melodies he likes to play too. Geralt has a couple he likes even. And Jaskier probably knows which ones, ‘cause he plays them when the Witcher is a little low in spirits or injured in battle to cheer him up.

Geralt also thinks that Jaskier is way attentive in matters related to him. Jaskier uses oils that are actually pleasant to his sensitive nose when he washes Geralt's hair, an achievement not easy to accomplish. He saves coins for a hot bath, even when he could spend the money in food or new clothes. He learned the potions useful for Geralt with amazing speed, he also got a lot better in stitching his injuries effectively, even though he dislikes blood that much. Perhaps the bard isn’t a soldier, he can’t brandish a sword like Geralt, but definitively knows how to defend himself with a dagger, even his lute in extreme necessity. Although Jaskier was always careful to not use the elven lute for that, such a precious gift mustn’t be damaged.

The bard’s scent always makes Geralt felt at ease, the sweet smell of nature, mint and rosin it's extremely soothing and familiar nowadays, so much that he always searches for it unconsciously when they are apart, like now.

Behold his surprise to notices that there’s none. Which is weird, since the camp isn’t that far, he should be able to find Jaskier since here.

When he arrives at the camp he sees the place is empty, not even a single tent is left. He scowls trying to find Jaskier, if everyone has already departed then he couldn’t be that far. His eyes localizes Roach a little bit further pacing leisurely, she seems a bit annoyed and waiting the order to finally descend. Geralt approaches the mare and pats her flank softly.

“You don’t happen to know where he is, don’t you?”

Roach shakes her head and kicks a little on the floor, clever girl. A quick glance to her tells Geralt that Jaskier’s belongings are still there. “Yeah, figured. I’ll go fetch him and then we’re out of here, girl, ‘be right back.”

The mare neighs briefly and proceeds to eat the little grass she can find. Geralt sniffs again and this time he catches a faint scent of Jaskier, so he follows it through the rocks and into the few skinny trees. Maybe he’s taking a nap? If is that, then he must be really far to smell so weak. Which, again, is _weird_. Chances are Jaskier walked away because he still doesn't want to speak to him. It’s exasperating, but Geralt won’t say anything if that’s what he wants. At least this time he admits to have been a big jerk, so he’ll humor the bard and let him find the best way to forgive Geralt.

Because no matter what, Jaskier will always forgive Geralt.

The Witcher turns behind a big rock, only to have all the air of his lungs lost.

There, resting below a tree and obviously hidden by someone to prevent it for being robbed, is Jaskier’s lute case. No, not just the case, the instrument it’s inside. Geralt knows for sure that Jaskier never, _never_ would leave his instrument behind. He’s more prone to discard all of his possessions in order to protect that lute. Geralt feels a sudden cold running through his body, is this fear? anxiety? He doesn't know. He only knows something must have happened to Jaskier while he wasn't here.

No, because you didn't _wanted_ to be here. _You_ did this. _You_ send Jaskier away and now something terrible happened.

_It's always you._

Something happened to the only person who always was there for you and to whom you treated like trash.

Geralt thinks of the time Jaskier almost died with the Djinn, how he didn't want to be the last thing he remember back then. And now it's happening again. He said to him the worst things he could thought in the heat of the moment, he hurt him badly.

And now he's _gone_.

Just like he wished.

Jaskier could die and the last thing Geralt told him was he was a nuisance he never wanted to see again. He repaid Jaskier's kindness and friendship with his shit.

The cold climbs every inch of Geralt's body, it would be enough to make him shiver wasn't he a Witcher. This can't be, he repeats himself over and over. There's no way this is happening.

Who wants to hurt Jaskier? Why would someone take him? Why didn't Roach tried to warned him something happened to Jaskier?

Because... something _did_ happened to him, right?

That’s the only explanation.

Because of course Jaskier wouldn’t take his words for real and disappear.

Because Jaskier would never leave Geralt, no matter what.

Geralt thinks not for the first time, than this is the exact reason why he doesn’t do fucking feelings.

For him, the agony of think that something could’ve happened to Jaskier because of him, for having so stupidly dismissed it up there, eats away all capacity for rational analysis. Something they trained him to do all his life.

But he feels cold and sees red.

“Jaskier!”

He shouts to the mountain and the emptiness on it, his voice sounds wrong, it shouldn’t sound so desperate. However the only answer he receives is a mocking echo reverberating in his skull.

Fuck.

~O~O~O~

Jaskier is content.

He feels free and light for the first time in forever, the joyful tune vibrating under his fingers is the best proof of it. He’s being bathed by an incredible gentle sun and caressed by the salty breeze of the ocean. Jaskier takes a deep breath and smile widely. Yes, this is _exactly_ what he was looking for.

“Well, you seem far better than I expected.”

Jaskier turns to the new voice joining him and cannot repressed a shock of surprise. “Marnie? My dear! what an unexpected surprise. What has been brought you here?” 

Marnie smiles, she brushes his knee swiftly and lay to his side on the grass. “I came to see how you’re doing. It’s been such a long time, after all.”

A long time indeed, yet the years treated this beautiful woman like the best of wines, her young face is now that of an entire woman, accented with a slimmer chin and rosy cheeks illuminating her face. The auburn hair is longer and the curls frame her face in all directions. Jaskier is pleased to notice that the most beautiful thing in Marnie, her sunset-eyes, are still bright and lively as ever.

Jaskier knows he should feel something like hatred or resentment towards this woman whom he hasn’t see for centuries, however, he can only praise himself for have been important to her at some point in her life. Such a gorgeous woman.

“Well, I feel honored! You’ve traveled to this corner of the Continent just to see this humble bard? I'm very good, as you can see. I've traveled for years myself, if you can believe it. I've met some of the most awesome monsters and creatures you'll ever heard. Not to mention amazing people as well, did you ever heard of the White Wolf? The one and only Geralt of Rivia? He’s my best friend. I know, I know, sounds incredible right? But it's true. We’ve being traveling together for twenty years, a record, according to his brothers. It appears he doesn’t get along with too many people, shocking, I know. I’ll introduce him to you! he’s not as scary as it seems, he’s actually a softy, but don’t say this to him or he’ll kill me.”

Jaskier’s speech is interrupted by a soft chuckle of the lady, he arches an eyebrow to her. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, I do. It’s just… you’re odd, Julian.” Marnie rests her head on her knees while watching at Jaskier. “Do you not ask yourself why am I here? After all these years?”

Jaskier plays low chords and fixes his eyes on the smooth water at front. “I thought you’ve missed me. Don’t tell me, have you ulterior motives? If that is then I’m afraid I must decline your advances, I’m not interested at the moment. But thank you. I’ll have you in mind, just in case.” He jokes lightly and hears Marnie scoffing.

Truth is, Jaskier _does_ wonders why she’s here, but his mechanism to fight nervousness is to babble nonsense nonstop. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, then speaks not ever taking her eyes off Jaskier. “How did the curse treated you?”

Oh right, the curse. Jaskier almost forgot that tiny detail. Why did he forget that, now?

He stops his fingers on the lute and sighs loudly. “We’re besties. I ain’t gonna lie to you, it wasn’t the easiest friend to get along with, but we made it. It took just fourteen years and a couple of killing intent for its part which, not cool, darling. Not cool at all. I can give you a constructive criticism if you’re up to it. You know, in case some other poor soul piss you off too.”

The soothing sound of the wind on the tall grass it’s not working so well to Jaskier as moments before. He is accustomed to piercing stares, but not to the one of this gorgeous sorceress particularly. So, yeah, a little bit uncomfortable over here. He tries and goes for the easy talk, it’s not difficult considering Jaskier _actually_ can’t be mad at her for some reason, but it doesn’t seems like Marnie came all the way here just to chat, and that unnerves him.

“It was the Witcher, wasn’t it?” she says convinced after a while. Jaskier looks at her without getting her point. “The one who broke your heart. Was the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, wasn’t it?”

Ah, great. Now even she is aware of that. Is it that Jaskier is incapable of concealing at least a little? His teachers of drama in Oxenfurt must be rolling around in his grave.

He doesn’t answer, but she goes on anyway. And the smile crawling on her face annoy Jaskier a bit; for a second it seems as she’s going to mock of him or say something insulting, but then her face changes and her eyes get softer.

Splendid, he made the sorceress who cursed him have pity of him. This is really remarkable.

“I wanted for you to suffer” she says, Jaskier cannot help to let her know that she did made it, if she has any doubt about it. “No, I know that. What I mean, is that I planned for you to suffer for a shorter term. You were supposed to find someone you really liked, they would break your heart and then you were to run away as you always did. That way the curse was to be painful, but not enough to kill you. It was created with the intention of your eternal suffer in regards to a love life” Marnie winces and chews her lip. “I was an immature and petty teenager, you see.”

Well, this is as good an apologize if he ever asked for one. Marnie was indeed young when they met, but petty wasn't an adjective he would put on her. Jaskier was only and arsehole who didn’t knew how to treated her properly, he reaped what he sowed. Marnie was not at fault. He smiles to say her exactly this, but she keeps talking.

“You said fourteen years, but you had the curse for much longer than that. Was then when you fell in love of him?”

It doesn’t have any point to lie now, Jaskier thinks. “Yeah.”

“Why did you stay there? Why endure so many years of pain just for a crush?”

A crush. No, Jaskier couldn’t say it was a mere crush. The moment he realized his feelings it was already too late; he was head over heels for Geralt. Why endure it? That can be a more interesting question.

If he had to confess under pressure, Jaskier would say it was because Geralt was the definition of pleasing to the eye. A body sculpted by the gods, a manly aura, his very sharp edges menacing to slice anything that dare to get close. Geralt was a challenge. A distraction from the Countess and Jaskier's departure from the seedy bars that did not know how to appreciate his music.

It was that way at least until Jaskier began to known the real Geralt. From there on it all went to shit.

He started to love the way Geralt talked in grunts, but always had sweet words for Roach. To the way he lied about not being hungry just so Jaskier could have more food. Stupid, he wasn’t the one who needed the energy to kill monsters, but Geralt never cared. If they shared a room, Geralt squeeze his gigantic body to allow Jaskier to fit in the bed too. He gave Jaskier new clothes and provisions for the care of his lute. He sometimes gave him parchment and ink too, for when Jaskier need to write new songs. Jaskier loved how full it made him felt to make Geralt laugh or open himself about little details. Jaskier loved how Geralt let him wash his hair, even when he repeated over again how little he needs people in his life. Geralt not once forced Jaskier to do something, he let the bard move to his own rhythm. If Jaskier wanted to play in a particular event, he just had to say it and then they pact a date to reunite again.

Jaskier started to love the shitty Geralt too. The one who manhandled him like a puppet when something dangerous appeared. The one who ranted angry at Jaskier when he had little to none sleep. The same who, despite not knowing it, broke his heart over and over and over.

Jaskier approached to Geralt to know the world. And when he knew the world, he chose to make Geralt his own personal world. Because he realized than until then, his world was meaningless in comparison. Geralt made his days brighter, happier, wholesome. It didn’t matter if cold, hunger and dangerous beasts were his daily routine, as long as Geralt was at his side, Jaskier felt a complete man.

He doesn’t think there’s a word to summarize all of that. So he goes simpler. “Because I’ve ever loved the love and he gave me the most perfect kind of love I could’ve asked for. He was my first true friend. I describe myself until the moment we met as a man blind-walking through a dark forest, Geralt gave me light to see my path. He was my light. Funny as it seems since the brightest color Geralt had ever used is grey of his black clothes discolored over time. " Jaskier remembers one time he tried to give Geralt a new deep blue shirt, and he made this face like Jaskier just hit him with his grandma ashes. "He’s allergic to feelings, I knew that and despite all… I fell in love. So much than I thought I could endure all the pain in the world just to be able to walk beside him. He’s been alone for such a long time… nobody deserves that. He’s a great man. I’ll never would ask him to love me the way I love him, that is a greedy wish” Jaskier forgets to smile this time, the bitter feeling already rooting in his chest. “But as long as he’ll let me, I’m going to make the world love him as I do.”

The sorceress doesn’t mutter a word, the waves crushing below them are the only sound on their ears. Instants later, Jaskier feels the body-heat of Marnie closer to him, gently leaning on his shoulder and patting his hair slowly.

“You loved him so deeply, how does he never noticed it? How did he manage to break your heart so badly?”

The man scoffs humorless trying to smile but failing miserably, “He— ah, he fell in love of someone else” Marnie makes a sound with her throat that ranges from indignant to surprised, and he can so relate to that. “Yeah. Can’t blame him, honestly. She is stunning beautiful, smart and powerful. Such a better traveler companion and partner for him...”

For the better, he refrains to tell her of their little exchange of nasty words. Jaskier is sure that to know Geralt never considered him his friend despite all their time traveling together and their shared moments, that he just saw him like a nuisance in his life he had to get rid of, is the real reason of his heartbreak.

“He was… he was so happy next to her. You should’ve seen it. His marble face learned some new tricks, I thought he didn’t remember how to move his face-muscles except to scowl. But Geralt used to smile after talking of her, or after bed her,” Jaskier think on that day in Rinde and feels a sting in his eyes. “I’ll never could give him that. And I thought, hey, if he’s happy then I’m happy. I was blessed with this gorgeous face and charm, you see, something that my friend is lacking. I can always find a partner if I want, but he can’t. He liked like ... three people in his whole life. And all of them ended fucking awful, so he built this gigantic wall around him to prevent him of getting hurt. If being with Yennefer is what makes him happy now… I can bear with that.”

He thinks he might cry, but not a single tear falls. However, Marnie puts her hand on Jaskier’s left cheek and caressed it tenderly. She has this face, one that he never saw on her before. Marnie doesn’t smile either when she talks, but her voice is very fond. “I thought I was going to teach you a lesson, but instead, you taught one to me. I believed I knew what true love was until now, but— you show me this kind of love so selfless... a love who made you able to bare pain and sorrow without any benefit for you in there more than to see the happiness of your loved one from afar.”

The bard lowers his eyes, he’s sure if he keeps looking at that soft glance he’ll break. “Now, it’s not so noble as you make it looks. I didn’t have anything better to do and later I found myself too attached to the horse. The horse was the real motive, I confess.”

“If you could rewrite the past, if you are given the opportunity to never had the curse, but in exchange to never met the Witcher, would you do it?”

Huh, what an interest question. Years ago, Jaskier probably would've say yes. Anything was good to get rid of the pain. But the idea of never have met Geralt, Roach and all the Witchers and friends on the road, as Chireadan and even fucking Yennefer, as crazy as it seems, makes the answer easy.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Marnie smiles. “I thought so. I really apologize, Julian. You didn’t deserved my wrath at you. We both were too naïve for our own good.”

“I don’t suppose you want to break the curse then? Like a token for our reunion and our new friendship now that we’ve realized the lack of maturity back then” Jaskier knows that this is probably his best chance in forever to test his luck. Marnie seems to have leave behind all grudge she could’ve hold against him, however the stunned face she puts on gives him a very bad feeling.

“Oh, Julian… I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, don’t you worry. It was just a thing I had to try, it’s not like if I actually want it out. I wouldn’t know what to do with the lack of pain, to be honest.”

“No,” she says strong, stopping Jaskier’s nonsense “I’m not apologizing because I won’t break it. What I mean is… I can’t.”

Oh, for fucks sake. That’s it. This is the last proof Jaskier needs to assure that Destiny is a bloody bitch. Make his sorceress-ex unable to break her own curse now that they finally made peace, is a shithole of luck.

What else could happen to Jaskier to demonstrate him how deep he’s hated by forces above?

“Julian, the curse was made to kill you of a heartbreak. And… it worked.”

What?

“What?”

Marnie flinches a bit. “Julian, you’re dead.”

Ah, well. The sincerest apology, Destiny. It seems Jaskier misjudged you sooner than he should’ve.

This might explain why Jaskier feels so good, he foolishly thought this was just a good dream.

“But it’ll be fine!” Marnie hurries to say. She tries to focus on Jaskier, but he seems lost in thoughts. “That lady is trying to revive you right now and she’s doing a great job, by the way. You've been unconscious for less time than you think, it shouldn't be as difficult as if she already found you dead.”

“A lady?”

“The sorceress who found you in the mountain” OH, _NO_. Jaskier goes blank for a moment, blinks twice and then asks for Marnie to give some more detail, his voice didn’t squeal at all, thank you very much. “Purple eyes, black hair, scary face. A scary woman if I’ve saw one.”

Yeah, there aren’t that many folks in Jaskier’s life to fit in that description. The only valid question here is to ask why is she trying to help him? Jaskier is sure he didn’t spoke more than strictly necessary with her and most of those times he couldn’t leave the jealousy out of his words. Yennefer was a terrific clever woman; she probably didn’t took more than a minute to understand what was happening in Jaskier’s head.

“Oh” Marnie stands up shaking dust off her skirt and then reaches out a hand to Jaskier, who grabs her slowly. “It seems it’s time for our departure.”

“What do you mean? Wait, you’re not dead too, are you?”

Marnie laughs. “No, I’m afraid that’s only you. I was just bonded to came here the moment the curse finished its job. Well, you aren’t going to be dead much longer, so I might pay you a visit in real world. That’s… if you want me to.”

Marnie plays absent-minded with the lap of her terracotta skirt, Jaskier cannot help but to smiles to her. “I’ll be delighted to. I’ll tell you what, I’ll even play for you the song I made in your honor, did you ever heard ‘Morningstar’?”

Marnie raises a teasing eyebrow, “The one who sings about a red angel of curls who fell to reign the hell? I knew it was about me!”

Both laughs heartily. Jaskier keep his blue eyes over the ocean, it would’ve be so nice if he really was in a place like this. Maybe when he, ah… wakes up, he could go to a similar place. Now that he doesn’t have to follow a stupid Geralt hunting anything.

Jaskier just stands there, not knowing the correct procedure to revive. Should he say something? Maybe focus on helping Yennefer? he didn't know it. And since he doesn’t know, he won't do anything. But then, the weather changes; the gentle wind picks up and the lines on the horizon begins to dim. Well, Jaskier assumes this is the time then.

He feels how little by little his body gets numb, nevertheless something stuck in his tongue and he turns to Marnie, who is almost faded, “Marnie! I'm really, really sorry for hurting you back then.”

She seems surprised by the confession, yet her eyes crinkle warmly. "Yes, I know. For what is worth... I'm sorry too."

Jaskier is gonna say something, but he wakes up inhaling sharp. His head feels like he's been holding his breath for hours, which, not so far from reality. A warm bed is under him, a rare occurrence, so he touches the covers absentmindedly while taking in his surroundings. It’s a room, that much is clear. The walls are lit by torches that stains everything reddish, beside his head it’s a pitcher and an empty glass. He isn’t thirsty at the moment, but it’s good his healer thought in him. Jaskier also notices the lit hearth driving away the little cold that seeps in from the outside.

Obviously, he wasn’t focusing on the important things, ‘cause when a voice speaks from his other side, he almost hugs the ceiling.

“Sweet Melitele! You almost kill me here” he says, clutching his racing heart while trying to hide the scare.

“It would’ve be stupid of my part to kill you when I just brought you back from death. I don’t like to waste my time, contrary to what you may think.”

A familiar smell to lilac and gooseberries comes to Jaskier’s nose and he turns to face Yennefer, she looks the same as at the mountain but with a different set of clothes. Her face a little bit more exhausted too, if he sees correctly. Then again, it mustn’t be an easy task to practice resuscitation.

Jaskier looks at her but no words came from his mouth. They aren’t friends, hardly know each other, he doesn’t know what to say to her safely enough to not get cursed or transmuted into a weird creature. Show his appreciation for the small favor of saving his life it would be a nice start, but Jaskier isn’t sure why she did it to begin with. He knows enough about this beautiful lady to have the certainty than she doesn’t work for free. And Jaskier doesn’t have anything valuable he could think of to offer to her.

The minutes stretches on without neither opening their mouth, the logs crackling in the hearth are a very interesting distraction, Jaskier is sure he can make a good song out of them if he puts his heart on it. It wouldn’t be the first time, Jaskier had made some songs of nature for Geralt, he seemed to like those. There’s one about clever Roach than Geralt would never admit it, but every time Jaskier plays it, it makes him smile a bit. So every time he thinks Geralt need a boost up, “Daughter of the wild” is heard.

Well, thinking about it now maybe Geralt never liked his songs either. Perhaps they were another thing he must endure besides Jaskier. Yeah, not okay, we're not going there right now.

“Do you enjoy death?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Yennefer arches an eyebrow, “I must admit it’s astounding than you managed to be with a foot on the other side two of three times we met.”

“I’m surprised myself” he admits low, “I must be a natural. For the record, just one of two is my fault.” Jaskier grabs the glass now filled with water than she gives him and gulps thirsty.

“I know,” Jaskier’s eyes must be overly expressive, because she proceeds without the need to be asked. “I had to look into your head to know what kind of curse you had. A nasty one, frankly. Luckily for you it broke when you died.”

The bard scoff, “Lucky me.”

Yeah, his luck definitely couldn’t be better.

If she really saw into his head, then there’s nothing he can hide anymore. Why Geralt wasn’t with him when he was dying, why he was so salty and bitchy when spoking to her, all the times the bloody curse worked on him. What Geralt told him on the mountain and Rinde of course, the worst day of his curse, the day he felt like dying. Wait, no, the second worst; he supposes that actual death takes the prize here. Yennefer can mock his stupidity without shame, honestly. An obnoxious bard who sings about love, die from a heartbreak. By a man who fell in love with the woman who saves the life of the aforementioned bard. The man for whom the bard composed songs.

Yeah, he probably mocks himself too. When the raw pain on his chest be more tolerable.

Jaskier tries to get her away from that topic, “I don’t have anything to give you. For saving me. Geralt told me how you work, something of equal value must be paid for the magic to take place. But... I don’t have any of that to offer, so I apologize.”

“Hmm” Yennefer walks slowly and sits on a chair next to the bed, Jaskier doesn’t need to look at her to know he’s being scrutinizing. “Not always is something material or either has to be something I benefit from. You’ve already paid the price.”

Huh. It should be a good thing to hear that, but strangely, is not. Jaskier doesn’t remember giving anything. “I… did?”

“Yes,” She seems to notice the deep lack of understanding from the bard, because she sighs as if she was explaining something to an obtuse child. “I’ve already told you I had to peek inside your head. I know everything you thought, felt and did to be with Geralt. You chose to suffer in order to be with him, even though you knew it was gonna be the death for you. Quite literally.”

There it goes his attempt to keep her away from the topic. Jaskier feels tired only of thinking about it, he’s not ready to remember why he’s here, in an unknown place, with Yennefer of Vengerberg, alone. Though now than they already here, why not to take advantage of it and make his chest loses some weight?

“Don’t you think I’m pathetic?” He asks soft, barely noticeable. Of course, she doesn’t have problems in hear him anyway, being so close.

“I don’t,” Yennefer says after a moment and procced. “You did something I could never have done. It takes some bravery and strong mind to do what you did for so long. Specially since your sacrifice was made for a man like Geralt. You have my respect.”

He digs his blue eyes on her, astounding, there’s not a single trace of lie or condescension in Yennefer’s words. Jaskier gulps a knot in his throat.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, bard. I do love Geralt, but mine is not the same kind of love as yours,” This may be without doubt the first time Jaskier has heard this woman talk so much and somehow, between the surprise to discover she’s more human and kind than he ever would give her credit for, Jaskier finds himself entailed in the end of this particular sentence.

“We’ve been through a shithole of a life; we’ve overcome our weakness and hardened ourselves in order to survive. We’ll live long lives, but this world makes to find a lover an impossible task. We cannot form a family doing what we do, so we grab whatever we can to make the solitude lighter. Geralt and I can be each other’s supports, be a constancy where only transitory people surround us. However, we both are strong-minded, we have our own things to achieve. I would never leave my path to follow Geralt, as either would he. I love him, ‘cause he understand me in a way not many people can.”

Jaskier doesn’t notices Yennefer had moved until she puts an ugly-looking, green-purple beverage onto his hands and orders him to drink it. As expected, it’s dreadful. “He really loves you; you know. Like… lovely-dovely kind of love” The confession seemed easier in Jaskier’s head, in there it didn’t leave this bitter flavor in his tongue. Or maybe it was the beverage, who knows.

“He does not. Geralt doesn’t know what love is like, he only attaches himself to anyplace where he feels less like a pariah. He likes me, yes. But the trick with the Djinn was a low one even for him. He was desperate to feel he belonged to someone. Anyway, I'm fucking pissed with him and I'll possibly curse him as soon as I see him, so we’ll call it even. What I’m trying to say, is that if Geralt really knew what love is like, he would never have said those things to you. You are the only person stupid enough to put up with all his shit and ask for nothing in return.”

Wow, what an awful beverage indeed. It makes Jaskier’s eyes watery and his throat very hot.

For the first time he doesn’t have a cunning retort to the big, huge, immensely confession he just heard. Jaskier doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or worst. Yennefer loves Geralt, but not like Jaskier does. Geralt loves Yennefer, but apparently, in a very confused kind of way. So that leaves only one person remaining. 

How does Geralt feel about Jaskier?

Jaskier isn’t even sure he wants to figures it out.

“You know the worst part? I know still now I would give my life to protect that insensible prick. So, knowing that, there’s one thing I need to ask you."

A humorless laugh bubbles from his throat. He’s tired of crying over Geralt, so fucking tired. He can _so_ go to the stage where he has to be mad at him, Jaskier thinks he could do it so much better there. He probably has years of angry repressed on his body ready to burn the Witcher. Yeah, angry stage is gonna be fun. Meanwhile, on feeling-like-crap-please-hug-me stage, Jaskier is sure he needs just one thing.

“I don’t suppose you have wine on that apothecary of yours?” He asks finally and sees Yennefer arches his eyebrow with mirth.

“Now we’re sharing a moment here,” she stands up and signals to Jaskier to do the same. He sets aside the blankets and follows her into the hall. “Wine is good, but have you ever drown sorrows with vodka?"

The bard smiles widely. “Have I ever? Darling, I’m a viscount. There’s no alcohol that I don’t have a story to tell you about. What about this, fill me up with at least a bottle and I’m gonna tell you about the time when I woke up in the rooftop of a castle with a Baron and his wife, tangled in the tapestries of the wall.”

He hears the sorceress laughing. “That’s not so wild.”

“Oh, did I mention their _son_ was there too?”

Now Yennefer chokes with a real laugh, “No, you didn’t!”

Yes, absolutely yes. Jaskier is a master in this stage of a heartbreak, he’s gonna drink ‘till his head reset itself. He’s fucking tired of Geralt of Rivia and his incapability to feel. He’s fucking done with Geralt. He’s going to forget fucking Geralt and take refuge in Fantasy Geralt, the good and nice and lovely one.

So maybe, with a little luck, when Jaskier goes for the second bottle of vodka, maybe he could convince himself he’s gonna make it.

~O~O~O~

It’s has been seven weeks without Jaskier.

Geralt had searched for the people who went to the mountain with them to ask them if they knew something, to know in the process they weren’t the ones who took him either. Four days later of Jaskier’s disappearing, he found one of them. The dwarf told Geralt he saw Jaskier walking down the mountain like his soul was being persecuted for the devil in flesh. He said he tried to call the bard to reminded him of his lute 'cause they were already leaving, but he seemed in a real rush to get down, so much that he didn’t even heard him calling out for him most probably. 

Geralt doesn’t wants to believes it. Deep down he knew it was a probability, but to actually confirm than Jaskier in fact go away on his own volition makes him sick.

‘On his own volition’ is just a phrase he repeats himself to ease his self-hate. 

Thinking about Jaskier making Geralt’s wish true, taking seriously his words of never wanting to see him anymore and then disappear, is too damn painful to do it, so he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know either the names of the feelings wandering in his body, but none of them are a pleasant one. He would slice himself open to take them out if he could. Geralt doesn’t sleep properly in over five weeks, he needs to reach the nearest towns to look for Jaskier, however he isn’t in any of them. People were more scared of him without Jaskier to soften his image, so not many answer his question about a bard with chestnut hair and blue eyes. A child approaches him to say she knows about his song, the White Wolf is her favorite song of Jaskier’s and while giving him a small yellow flower, she wishes for him to find him soon.

The Witcher is fucking pissed. He’s hungry, sleepy, cranky and lacking a really hot bath, which makes him even more angry for some reason. He doesn’t uses Jaskier’s oils or touch too much his lute case. Both things are securely packed with Roach, for when Geralt find him.

Geralt knows it’s stupid to be angry at anything except himself, but he doesn’t care. Even Roach is more volatile. She seems continually fuming and ready to kick Geralt on the shins, something than didn’t happened since he first got her. She neighs and buff all the time, and on rare days, she also whines sadly. Is as if she could know exactly what happened and was blaming Geralt for the lack of Jaskier.

Which, yes, he deserves.

The lack of noise, music and babbled nonsense is painful and irritating.

The sneaky apples they used to give her are no longer there, she doesn’t have any braids on her mane and though Geralt do brushes her, Roach still seems angry. She is apparently giving him the cold shoulder and the man can’t even say a thing. He too would kick himself in the groin if given the opportunity. Hard.

It’s really amazing the amount of things Geralt got accustomed to with time without notice it. Now the nights are too quiet without the strumming of chords. There’s no one mumbling details about creatures for new songs, talking about old love-affairs or filling the silence by humming a wordless song. The same night Geralt used to known and got adapted to is now a very long one. His silences feel heavier, the absence of scented oils on his hair makes him uneasy.

The peace he wanted so much is not so appealing anymore.

Geralt’s head is always working, he’s always on alert to danger and his surroundings, but lately that same function is focused only on Jaskier. Geralt thinks so much about fucking Jaskier.

…In both ways.

He thinks in Jaskier moaning under him more times than he would like to admit. It’s like this since years ago but never this strong, Geralt never felt this pushing need to embrace Jaskier and never let him go again. It's a stupid thing, really. Jaskier is his friend... _was_ his friend... no, no! Geralt definitely thinks of him as his friend. His best friend whom he sent to fuck himself. Yeah. What a nice friend he was.

The point in here is than Geralt is not blind and he knows Jaskier's charms and good looks. He also knows about his love for warm bodies and momentary lovers. Jaskier is like honey calling out for bugs, he's sweet and addictive, funny and tender. Every person who passed through Jaskier the lover at some point in their life is a fortunate one.

But Geralt is not one of them and never would be.

Geralt life is hard, he's constantly in danger and/or running away of something equally dangerous. People hate Witchers and treated them like a disease. He could never drag shinny and happy Jaskier onto this stained life. Jaskier is a being with a long span-life too, but his could be full of bright and good moments, unlike Geralt’s.

That is why Yennefer is so important. Yennefer understand the shit of this ugly world and she made herself a threat to survive, nobody could step over her head now. She’s strong, beautiful and very smart. If Geralt could be to her side they would be unstoppable. They were going to live so long after all, have chosen her as his companion was the right decision to do.

Except than he doesn’t feels that way.

Argh!

Fuck all.

He doesn’t care anymore. Geralt always traveled alone with Roach and he will start to do it again if necessary. He doesn’t need no sorceress nor bard to do his fucking job. He’ll hunt and camp and get himself covered in monsters guts everywhere and that’ll be fine. That’ll be good. He would molded himself to his old life. In fact, he should have guessed it would end this way. Geralt always do this, he pushes people away of his life, but it’s fine. He’s accustomed to that too. No one who ever enter to his life stays there for too long, except for his brothers. He’s trained to embrace the solitude and make it his friend. He needs no one and doesn’t want to be needed.

Except he does.

He does needs Jaskier. And maybe Yennefer. But most than all, he needs alcohol.

Tons of alcohol.

So he goes to the next town a few miles away. He lets Roach in the stable and goes to the nearest inn, sits on the very end of the place and drinks his first ale in three long gulps. Geralt stays there, chilling out with his second tankard of ale which taste like legit beer and less like piss for a change. He’s fine, peaceful.

So it’s logical this was the moment Destiny reminds that Geralt shouldn't have peace for too long.

“I’ve seen horse shits better looking that you.”

“It’s always a pleasure to meet you, Yen.”

Yennefer makes this somehow-kind-of-smile and invites herself to sit in front of Geralt. She waves her hand and ask a barmaid for a cup of wine. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You were the one who bond us together, you should have guessed that would make us meet more often.”

Plus point.

In fact, over the last weeks Geralt had the time to understand he owes something like an apology to this woman. He did a terrible decision without having her in consideration, he was very selfish and immature. _He was desperate_. Tie magically the lives of two persons when one of them wasn't aware of it, is not okay. The fact than all of this realization came to him when he notices he didn’t thought about Yennefer since Jaskier went missing, is not a necessary thing to mention.

“Yennefer, I’m so—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts quickly. “you did this, and we have no way of break it. If you apologize now, I’ll kill you. I came here to talk, and since you owe me a very big favor, you’re going to shut your mouth and listen.”

Well, well, well. It seems somehow the sorceress is a bit rude than usual. Her face doesn’t show any of the hardness of her words, but the threat is very present. Of course Geralt isn’t afraid of this woman, he’s just doing what she said to show her some respect.

Yeah, right.

Yennefer sips slowly her wine and grimaces at the awful taste. A move of her hands changes quickly the content of the cup for a better beverage. “Do you miss him that bad?”

Geralt, who was very focused counting the dents on his tankard rim, looks up at her. “What?”

Oh, and isn’t funny how that cocky smile would had look hot on her a while ago, but now instead it makes Geralt feels a knot in his stomach? “Word is, you’ve been looking for the bard that you did not-so-kindly got rid of.”

“I didn’t get rid of him,” he spits “and anyway, that’s not your business. Why don’t you better tell me the real reason to why are you here, Yen.”

She holds her gaze severely; a beginning of a smile crosses her mouth and as quick as it came it disappear. “Now, Geralt. This is how this little chat is going to work. I do the talk; you do the silence. As you can see, my humor is not the best at the moment and your intrepid self-defense it’s so not the way to appease me,” Yennefer wets his red lips with the wine and doesn’t waits for Geralt to reply. This conversation never would end if she does it. “You interrupt me one more time, I shut your mouth with magic, your choice.”

Both exchange firm eyes for a minute, she waves a bit his fingers and Geralt snorts before drinking again.

Nice decision.

“So, the bard. I was the one who picked him up that day on the mountain.”

Yennefer of Vengerberg pick Jaskier up? What the hell? When did they turn out to be friends so close than she decided to hide Jaskier from Geralt? Is that what she did, in fact? Is it revenge for ruining it so much with both of them?

There are many questions to do, but the only Geralt can think is: “Why?”

And Geralt definitely don’t need to be told how stupid that choice is. Yennefer’s face hardens awfully. “You sent him to his death, Geralt. What did you expected me to did?”

Well, isn't that a little bit of exaggeration of the matter. ‘You sent him to his death’, Jaskier is not so fragile, he have survived many years with Geralt on the road and learnt how to defend himself very good. They weren't always together, of course Jaskier’s abilities had to improve if he wanted to keep traveling side by side. A simple path to get down from a mountain is far from the biggest danger they had faced, it didn't have beasts, for a start. The riskiest thing on there were the sharp rocks.

“I can hear you loud thinking from here,” Yennefer mocks. She doesn’t need magic skills to understand that man. “He was cursed, Geralt. The curse killed him before I’ve could take him to a safe place. Fortunately for you, I’m too good of a sorceress. He stayed with me for a while, and you see, this is why I’m upset. I’ve tried my best to make him hate you, by many possible ways and for many different reasons too. You would be surprise of the big amount of reasons I have for that.”

Yes well, you can get on the line, Yen. The one who was stacking reasons for being hated since weeks ago if not longer, is the same Geralt. The woman scoffs and refills her empty cup of magic wine, as a favor she also refills Geralt’s, who just nods very low to thank her. To be honest, Geralt is still thinking in the part of ‘Jaskier has died and I revived him’, so he isn’t very aware of his tankard, though he’s interested in find out if this meagre drink could make his head feel a little bit lighter. He seriously doubts it.

However, another part echoing in his head is the other important thing she said, Jaskier was cursed? That can’t be, he would’ve noticed it. His medallion should have warned him of any magic near. What kind of curse did he had to not want Geralt to help him? For how long? Before they met? In between?

“Yes, I see the gears starting to work. Now, like I already said, I’m pissed. You pissed me of very badly, but your bard did his part too. So, as I’ve been only generous towards you, you’re gonna hear me out without interrupt me, and of course that I trust you can keep your mouth shut, you did it for decades. But just so we’re sure than you’re not going to say a stupid thing which makes me turn you into a frog, I made sure that beer you just drank helps.”

Fuck. Golden eyes drops to the ale in horror, this is why he should never lower his guard next to a sorceress. No, not any sorceress, Yennefer only. This woman is far more dangerous than what her cute face shows. She must be thinking the same, ‘cause she smiles and keep talking.

And talk does she.

Yennefer speaks about an old curse, an unrequited love, an oblivious prick and a very stupid bard. It doesn’t take too much brain to get her point. Geralt wants to die. He wants to go fetch a wyvern with his bare hands and have his own head chopped. This can’t be happening, with Yennefer of Vengerberg of all people. Why? Why now? Is she trying to really make fun of him? It must be some testament of how tired he was than he didn’t open his mouth to say anything.

Geralt already knows how fucked he is, he doesn’t needs her help, thank you very much.

Jaskier and Geralt known each other for more than twenty years, he’s not blind okay? Of course he noticed the signals. The increasing furtive stares, the better mood, the longer talks and terrible jokes. The shared baths that were more often than not. The shared baths with _both_ of them in the tub. These moments were the predilected to him to stare unashamed to his naked body.

It wasn’t always like this, that’s clear. Rather, it started like, maybe sixteen years ago? Geralt already lost count.

Geralt knows it was wrong, he as a Witcher shouldn’t be so obvious about his—

His ears focuses again at a sentence. “What did you just said?”

Huh. Wasn’t he supposedly silenced with magic? Yennefer’s face carries some of his astound too, so the surprise must be shared, perhaps her spell went wrong? She murmurs something like ‘interesting’ and hums while playing her finger over the rim of the cup. “What is the part you didn’t get?” she asks finally.

Oh, yes, that. “You said he died from a… ‘heartbreak’?” the hesitation on that statement is palpable, she arches her eyebrow as if saying ‘what’s so strange about that?’ but Geralt is not wanting a fight. “Assuming I understand how this curse worked, I have my doubts. I don't think his love interest was reluctant to his advances.”

Yennefer sips. “You don’t?”

“No. He seemed… comfortable.”

“…Really,” What’s so odd in his words that she has to put that face that makes Geralt feels like an unfaithful husband claiming his innocence when he was found out in the spot by his wife? "And who might that person be?"

The forgotten ale comes interestingly to his mind again and he takes three long gulps. Why there’s never Lambert’s brew in hand when he needs it? Geralt makes a memo to ask his brother for a couple of bottles next time they met.

“I think his name is Chireadan.” He says at last. Yeah, right, as if he didn’t know with certainty. Geralt knows very well who Chireadan is.

The man for whom Jaskier wrote songs and the one who he missed so much after parting ways in Rinde that make his mood sour and untasteful for weeks. Jaskier smelled like cypress, muddy earth and downpour for too long for Geralt to be uncapable of noticed it. At least he had the delicacy not to ask about it, Jaskier didn’t seemed like he wanted to talk either, barely touched his lute. A very abnormal display. That was one of the few times they traveled in almost complete silence for about two days at least.

The Witcher could decipher Jaskier’s moods anywhere and he would do it totally unconsciously. Jaskier is unique, his scent can’t be matched with anything, every single thing he feel, Geralt knows it. He's like the best perfume, a luxury and relaxing one that Geralt made his own. Over time, Geralt educated himself to induce Jaskier's happy moods, making silly things as to buy spices for their food when they're camping, a waterproof coat for him and a little bit extra of the same cloth for his lute to protect it from the rain. There is the occasional weird scent, like the butter-melted and sugar, but all the others are easy. Jaskier is pure, simple and so familiar as his own.

Jaskier is in love of his elf friend Chireadan, the same one who seemed _very_ comfortable with the idea of hugging him, as far as Geralt can remember.

For the better it would have been if Geralt had, indeed, said nothing.

Seconds afterward the words left his mouth, he has to clean little drops of wine that reaches his face through Yennefer’s mouth. She never laughed so hard like right now, and for the span of a second, Geralt thinks he probably said something he shouldn’t have.

“Oh—oh this is rich! I don’t even need to ask you if you’re serious, you _clearly_ are! seeing that you could talk through the spell,” Yennefer keeps laughing while talking, which is a real rude thing, young lady. “Oh sweet Melitele, this is perfect. You mean, you think—you’re _very sure_ Jaskier is in love of this… this Chireadan, right?”

Geralt doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need him to.

“Gods. Geralt of Rivia, you are so fucking dense. You _really_ think the bard who dropped his life, one that was very much destined to be actual successful, in where he could sing in courts surrounded by wealth, fame and attention, to be with a pariah Witcher and clean his fucking name to the world in exchange of _nothing_ , is in love of an elf who he saw once in his life?”

Well, when she puts it like that it does sound a little bad. Geralt opens his mouth to reply that he fell in love with her and just saw her one, actually, but nothing comes out. His medallion vibrates under his shirt and then he gets it. Of fucking course, Yennefer’s trick wasn’t a silencing one; Geralt just couldn’t open his mouth if a lie is on it.

“No, you know what, that’s it. I’m fucking tired of both of you. I’ve came here whit another idea on mind, but now you’re gonna listen carefully, Witcher,” Yennefer gets closer to him, enough to puts her arm on Geralt’s wrist. “You are a really stupid man. You had hurt the only person foolish enough to leave all for you, you had hurt him for years and in the most painful way. Because you can’t recognize love even if it hits you on the face with a hammer. And as surprising as it sounds, I can relate to that at some level, being hurt by your ignorance.”

Geralt winces but says nothing. Which is rather good, since Yennefer doesn’t want to hear him.

“I’ve tried to make him understand this too, you know? to the bard. But behold, he is quite dense also. So I'm going to resort to more extreme measures that prevent me to kill you both.”

Without any further explanation, she makes herself pretty much clear when the only warning Geralt has is the strong vibration of his medallion before an electric blue light burst out of her hands and into Geralt’s arm. He drops the almost empty tankard of now lukewarm ale when he bolts backwards. The inn seems unaffected by their interaction, the chatter and sound of cutlery still filling the place. “What did you do?”

Yennefer only shakes her hand a little and drinks the last of her cup, “You know what’s interesting about some sorceresses? they can learn new tricks by watching the curses of others. This one won’t kill you, sadly, but it’s gonna make you feel the same way Jaskier felt for fucking fifteen years, until you do what you must. Maybe you’ll learn something interesting along the way.”

What? What does he must do?

“Why are you doing this?” Geralt flexes his fingers to get rid of the itching sensation. Yennefer levels him with a tired stare.

“I’ve been cleaning my karma. You see, I really would have liked to watch you suffer physically, but a part of me still loves you even though you broke my heart, you probably should thank your bard for that. So, I have a few things to ask you and when you answer, I want you to remember you're uncapable of lying. Do you truly love me, Geralt?"

Geralt stops his fingers and watches her. Her red lips are slightly curved in a smirk, the purple eyes even dimmed by the bad light looks extremely fascinating. She’s curious. Not a single trace of hope is shown on her face, which makes Geralt's chest aches for some reason. He does… did— _does_ love her, of course he does. She’s beauty, grace, strength.

“I do.”

She doesn’t talk for a moment, just watch him intensely with her head resting on her right palm. “The same way you love Jaskier?”

The same way? Of course not.

He does loves Jaskier, but not under the same light as his love for Yennefer. He loves Jaskier as a good friend and loves some things about him. For example, how easy-minded and fool he is, how his bright could compete with the sun’s light on summer and how his ridiculous songs lift his mood without failing. Jaskier never gets mad for too long and when he did, he creates all kinds of ridiculous songs about Geralt to vent it out. Geralt loves the way Jaskier insults noble people without them noticing it.

Geralt remember this one time in where a Baron ill-spoke about him and all the Witchers for being ‘mutations that represent a threat to the humanity’. Jaskier never faltered his smile or stopped his lute while responding.

_“Indeed, My Lord, is public and general knowledge than the highest crime and murder rate is by the hand of humans. Bandits, hungry and desperate people with not enough food to take to their tables, mostly because of mismanagement of the ones in power. A shameful event, honestly. Witchers only get rid of beasts and the occasional human who get sway of the road. Most of this humans are wealthy ones who lost their possessions or status by having a big mouth betraying them. You can say Witchers take care of what noble ones cannot. You see, My Lord, a very wise thing this humble bard learnt over the time is that being silent around people you don’t know very well is the most advisable.”_

Geralt was sure they were going to be cast out of the castle right there, however, the Baron was too wasted to understand that Jaskier actually was telling him to stick his ass with a very big dick, so he just said something stupid and went to annoy the next people on his list. Jaskier fumed and wrote a song about him, a very not-so-respectful song and played it in every court he went. Geralt laugh for real that time and the way Jaskier’s face shone for that, is still tattooed on his brain. Over time, the Witcher realized his stares at Jaskier increased, he smiled more when he said or did something silly, he followed Jaskier’s monologues more often than not, even talked about a creature before the bard made a question about it.

Of course Geralt doesn’t love him the same way as Yennefer, he…

He looks at Yennefer one more time. He’s sure he loves this woman, but… somehow isn’t the same.

“You’re getting there, big boy.” She coos as if talking to a puppy, which makes Geralt sneer.

“No, it’s—it’s not the same way. I love him as a—” His voice hitches and muted. Geralt frowns and coughs, but still couldn’t talk, in front of him Yennefer stretched his lips.

“Yes, I think you’re ready,” She leaves a couple of coins on the table while standing up. When she finishes of accommodating the skirt of her dress she gets near to Geralt’s ear. “See, I could sit here all day and have you hear all the idiocies you did in the last years, but my visit is just a courtesy to a new friend. Which, if it is of your interest, is now in Dol Blathana with an… acquaintance. Between us, it’s not him the one who you love as a friend, Geralt.”

Yennefer doesn’t waits for a reply from Geralt, she kiss his cheek and says goodbye with a raised hand. And the Witcher just sees her back until it disappear through the door.

Later, much later, Geralt would get to know than all of this was actually an unconscious thing that Jaskier made. Because in the five weeks he spent with the sorceress, they developed a completely unexpected friendship based on their broken hearts by the hand of the same man. And while Yennefer could only mutter anything but a compliment to the Witcher, Jaskier didn’t stop to recite all the things that made him fall in love of him.

 _“I love the love. If a single bad experience can make me change my mind, then my feelings weren’t that true to begin with. I still love him even if he doesn’t, you know?”_ He said to Yennefer one day, when they both were by the third bottle of the evening.

Not for the first time Yennefer wondered if Geralt ever knew that the bard, whom they believed to be unbearable and weak, turned out to be the strongest of the three. Witcher and sorceress might have long lives and wide experience of the darkest world, but Jaskier was a being of light and happiness and so much wisdom about feelings, than they would take an entire life to comprehend it all. She was able to ease the pain on her own heart thanks to Jaskier, could treasure the love she felt for Geralt and move on with a new kind of love. So as a retribution, she decided to help him. Someone needs to cherish that bard once and for all.

Yes, okay, perhaps her methods have a little of revenge on them, but mostly it was an honest to gods wish to help those both idiots get together. If she wouldn’t have stepped in, they probably would never talk again. And if there’s a certainty this sorceress has, is that the man inside that tavern needs a tablespoon of his own medicine.

And since that man is bent over the table right now, squeezing his chest which burns like magma for no apparent reason, Yennefer assumes she did it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Yennefer so-fricking-much! ♥ I was hearing Jolene and a queu of similar songs while writing the first part and thought, 'Hey, Jolene is so totally Yennefer, Jaskier is the one singing for his sad heart (?)', but I decided to give her a redeption, she deserves so much love too. ♥
> 
> Thanks for reading!! ♥


	4. Freedom of love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Here I bring you the last part of this story! It was more than fun to experiment with this, it is a subject that I wanted to write about a long time ago, I hope you have enjoyed reading it as I did writing it.  
> Thank you very much for the beautiful comments you have given me, they made my heart happy in superhuman ways ♥

Geralt is so fucking tired of magic.

He just wants old and trustworthy swords, hand-to-hand fights. Not Djinn, nor curses, or sorceresses seeking revenge. Just a Witcher wishing normality for once.

Since his meeting with Yennefer a week ago, the fucking pain on his chest it never go. It's always pushing, burning and tearing all apart. Geralt is a very trained professional, he had surpassed the most difficult trials in order to be a Witcher and more too. He had learnt to put poison on his body to create a resistance to them. He had slept outside some of the coldest nights of winter before heading to Kaer Morhen. He fought against the most dangerous creatures of the Continent with just his swords. Geralt of Rivia is a _friend_ of pain.

But this little bitch is _very_ bothersome, for putting some word.

It never leaves. It’s there when he tries to sleep, there when he cannot. There when he walks, there when he stops. It says hello when Geralt is trying to remember the shortest way to Dol Blathanna and kicks his very core when he tries to ignore it. And, mostly, it hates him with viciousness when he thinks about Jaskier. Those times, Geralt has to make sure of not being on top of Roach, ‘cause the times the pain knocked out the air on his lungs and forced him to bend to the point of falling, were not few.

Yennefer said Jaskier had to endure this for— how much did she said? ‘ _fucking fifteen years’_? yeah, Geralt would shut his trap for only suffer it fucking seven days, he would figure a way to.

In fact, Geralt proves himself to be pretty good in figure out things. For example, he discovered that the truth spell Yennefer put on him still works great. And being totally honest here, he do uses it to his advantage. It’s stupid to try and say things he already knows but testing the limits of what he knows and what he _thinks_ know it’s really useful.

The easy things are first, like his name, Roach’s color, his brothers names. Those he uses them to recognize the feeling of the magic, and it’s normal, like… yeah, nothing happens. But when he tries an obvious lie, as to say the sky is green, his chest buzz before his throat close itself, his tongue feels heavy as iron. Starting there, Geralt starts to recite random facts. It’s surprising the times his tongue stops when Geralt say things he actually, honest to god think are true. Fortunately for him, only Roach is there to hear him babbling. And yeah, maybe she looks at him like he lost his mind, after all Geralt spends seventeen of the twenty days it takes to get at Dol Blathanna talking with himself, but at least it was she and not another human.

Even though Roach’s judgmental look is far worse than that of a human. 

Geralt has plenty of time to plan.

Once he find Jaskier in the immensity of Dol Blathanna, he is going to apologize like never before. Geralt practiced the right words, the ones he could mutter without locking his tongue. He’ll be enduring. He’ll allow Jaskier to say wherever he wants, if he wants to insult him, punch him, even ignore Geralt for a while, he’ll let him. The speech makes Geralt looks at complete fault in here, something that Jaskier surely would enjoy. The reality is that well, Geralt _is_ the complete responsible for all of this. He knows it for sure. His tongue freezing when saying the otherwise has _nothing_ to do with this discovery, of course.

Geralt isn’t naïve, Jaskier is a good person but even he has his limits. And that’s okay, Geralt would be persistent. Just like Jaskier was with him.

The spell kind of forces him to be honest with himself, but even without its help, Geralt can admit that he miss Jaskier so fucking much. He miss the things that normally would make him mad, like Jaskier’s babbling and the never-ending strum of a lute; a whinny voice complaining about the heat, the cold, the nights out camping and the nights in a poor inn. _Would it kill them to clean the fucking sheets? I mean, I swear I can smell the last person who slept here Geralt, and let me tell you, they would need a severe bath._

Geralt miss the way Jaskier smile, how when he stretch his lips too much this little dimples pop up on his cheeks and the shine on his cornflower-blue eyes. His scoffs when he think the Witcher say something stupid, and how his index finger raise up to let it clear how much he disagree with Geralt’s statement. The way he say the first silly thing he has on his mind when getting nervous.

Even the wild side of his. Oh, those are the best and rarest moments, but definitely one of Geralt's favorites.

Because Jaskier may pass as a simple bard but he was terrible feral sometimes, when the weird combination of events pushed him to be. There was this one time when he knocked out a bigoted noble in a tavern just for daring to spit on Geralt’s ale.

 _“Witchers should kneel in front of their superiors”_ He had said with a demeaning smile _._

That was when Jaskier, who was standing next to Geralt, force him on his knees with the back of his lute right straight into that arsehole face. _“Yeah, you’re right. You should kneel in front of him then, son of a whore. A shitbag as you couldn't be superior even of a sick goat.”_

Jaskier rarely insult with rude words, his get closer to an old-lady potty mouth than that to an adult man, but when it happen it’s _awesome_. He doesn’t even need to say too much, for Geralt it’s incredible funny to hear him say more than “ _holy moly_ ”. It’s always delightful, honestly.

That night Geralt couldn’t repress a smile on his face when Jaskier offered to buy him some real alcohol, far from the noble and his shitty payment for Geralt’s hard work. The bard expend all the night saying nice things and flattery about the Witcher, as if he was really concerned that the fat-man words had hurt him. Being honest, he was so accustomed to hear far worse things just for breakfast, but Geralt let him anyway. It was nice, to hear and see someone who would stand up for him even though he didn’t need it. It's a quality of Jaskier that Geralt really admire, he’s small and fragile, but even so he will break the next object near him to defend his valuable friend. A very big and strong friend who obviously doesn’t need help. Jaskier never cared for that.

He really fucking miss him, goddamn. Geralt wants to smell again that refreshing scent of him, the mint and the forest and rosin and parchment and everything that Jaskier is. _Geralt wants Jaskier._

Geralt’s tongue didn’t get heavy when saying that out loud.

So when he finally sees Dol Blathanna huge main entrance, he closes his eyes and sniffs. Dol Blathanna smells like all the nature in the world gathered in just one place; flowers, herbs, trees, waterfalls. It’s cloying, confusing if you’re not sure of what you are looking for, which is not Geralt’s case. He’s searching mint and lemon balm, rosin, drizzle on dry earth. It takes a moment, it’s much further than what he thought, but he tracks it and Roach’s reins move almost by its own to take him there.

The good point of this immense city is that a Witcher wandering with his horse is not such a rare view. All kinds of works are required from a Witcher and other kinds as sorcerers and witches too, so nobody pays him much attention. His nose leads him to the forest part, where not too many people walk but even so, there’s an unmistakable second scent next to Jaskier’s. Geralt would say it’s normal, Jaskier is a friendly man and surely made a couple of friends, but this smell is familiar. Very much, though he only crossed it once before. And is this smell who glimpses him first, kneeling into the tallest grass with a basket full of herbs and plants in his hands.

“What a rare sight!” Chireadan says welcoming, straightening up a little with a little smile. “It’s been a long time. What kind of work brings you here today, Witcher?”

“Chireadan,” he salutes while dismounting Roach, even when his nose keeps searching for Jaskier. “I’m not here for work. I— I’m looking for Jaskier.”

The elf gets up, shaking dirt from his pants. “Jaskier? Why?” He asks. And the Witcher doesn’t need to be an expert on tones to understand an undercover question in there. Geralt looks away trying to ignore the shameful feeling escalating over his body. Of course this man knows everything that happened on that fucking mountain.

Geralt’s first try is apparently a lie, ‘cause his tongue stills and he has to curse internally. Fucking magic. He takes a minute testing sentences until one can come out of his mouth. “I said some things to him that he didn’t deserved. I want to apologize.”

Chireadan hums while nodding slowly. “It took you long enough to realize that, don’t you? He’s been here with me ever since Yennefer bring him through a portal, more than a month ago.”

Geralt try his very best to not concentrate on the ‘here with me’ part. “It took a long from where I was. I met with Yen only three weeks ago.”

“Jaskier was very hurt, you know. For the most of the first week he got here he confused everyone’s name with Geralt. He even started to say something and stopped mid-sentences when he saw it was me who he was talking to.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything, this is seemingly part of what he prepared himself to endure in order to recover Jaskier’s trust. He knows he never would hurt Jaskier intentionally. He would prefer to cut his hands than to hurt him. But then, there’s more than one way to hurt someone. To say it wasn’t his intention would be a lie, because at that moment in the mountain he felt everything he said, he wanted to be wounding and break someone else besides himself. Geralt’s own curse don’t let him mutter a word to defend himself now, the elf is right, of course he had hurt him. But now… now he’s here to emend his mistake.

“Jaskier is a very important friend, Geralt. I don’t want to see him like that once more. He doesn’t deserves it. If you are here with half-assed intentions, please—"

“He’s also my friend,” Geralt interrupts, very not pouting, thank you very much.

Chireadan does this funny face. “Jaskier doesn’t seems to think the same. What do you really want from him, Geralt? Do you even care about him for real?”

Oh, ouch. The ever-present pressure on his chest aches hard. Geralt bites the inside of his cheek and opens his mouth to retort, but the medallion hanging from his neck starts to vibrate so strong it stops him before trying. Rather, something interesting happen. “I thought Jaskier was in love with you since Rinde. I was so blind, stupid and miserable that I thought he would never look at me that way and so I did something even stupidest to Yennefer in a desperate move, thinking that I was in love of her. The truth is that I’m so sickly in love of the bard that if good and benevolent Yen would have not help me to be honest through this strong magic, I’ve never would dare to do something. And because I pissed her of so much, she did this spell specifically so I can’t lie and finally take out mi head off all my shit. What I’m trying to say is that I’m here to crawl over the floor if necessary to recover that loud bard that makes my life colorful. And that I appreciate and thank you for how much you took care of him this past time, being an unconditional friend for him.”

The silence that succeed is suffocating. Horrible so.

And a very long one.

Above all, the funny thing is that when Geralt finishes to understand what the fuck just happened, the first thing he notices is the taken aback look on Chireadan. While Chireadan sees the shocked, mortifying and appalling face of Geralt, with his eyes so open they almost touch the hair on his head. His mouth which never fully closes itself gets close and open but not a sound come out.

_Fucking Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg._

The Witcher doesn’t remember the last time he felt himself on fire when not caused by a creature or a spell. But now he can almost touch the magma crawling his face and trying to settle down on his cheeks, fortunately his slow heart rate prevents it. He try to say something to save his remaining dignity, but the laugh of Chireadan is quicker. Yeah, there it goes his dignity.

“Well, that’s a good way to say you care for him. Quite a lot.” The mock between the _very bad disguised_ laugh in his voice makes that Geralt wants to crawl to the inside of the earth and never come out.

“Look! I found the echinacea and feverfew! I got a little scrapped ‘cause a little root made me kiss the nice mud, but hey, look how much—”

An embarrassed Geralt and tempted Chireadan turns at the same time to see Jaskier to their left, with his knees completely dark and covered in mud. He’s shaking a bouquet of herbs with a big smile until he sees Geralt. The moment he sees him he just freezes. The hand with the plants slowly gets lower, he opens his mouth and…

“Fuck, no!” Jaskier shouts.

Well.

Geralt was prepared with a handful of possible reactions, but honestly? this wasn’t one of them.

Jaskier’s empty hand ruffles his hair and as quick as he appeared, he turns around and returns to the forest, while Geralt just… stands there. Though the sound of his voice talking loudly betrays him, he’s still near. He didn't have time to enjoy hearing Jaskier's voice again, as it only takes a second to Geralt's heart to feel like it's been tore apart and in revenge it steal all the air on his lungs. He lets out short puffs of scarce air; he’s a friend of pain, for fucks sake. He have dealt with wyverns, witches, moiras, griffins, the most disgusting and lethal creatures walking this earth. But this, this little _motherfucker_ feels somehow worse. Geralt stood there, clutching his black chemise as if that would ease the fire, focusing in breathing in and out of his nose. He’s a professional. He’s a friend of pain.

“Are you okay?” Chireadan ask, weirdly closer than Geralt remembers. He try to say yes, but his tongue freezes. Right, no lies.

“Part of Yennefer trick,” he says instead. The elf nods as if that were enough explanation.

“Don’t take it personal. Jaskier, I mean. Remember I told you he used to speak to himself thinking you were there? At some point he started to see you sometimes too, nothing serious, but it scared him to think he might’ve getting crazy,” Chireadan smiles friendly as if he’s talking about the weather. He picks one of the lots of plants in the basket on the floor and give it to Geralt. “Chew this, it’ll help with the pain. He only talked about you since the moment he got here, I don’t think he’s reluctant to see you now. Maybe he only needs to understand you’re the real one.”

While saying this, he grabs the basket just in time to hear the voice of Jaskier getting louder, he come walking to them while speaking. “Okay, you know what, I’ve been doing great until now. I can’t be that crazy yet, so you must be only in my head and I’m using a very good imagination ‘cause you look exactly like the real Geralt. But since you’re my Fantasy Geralt and possibly are here to comfort me, I’ll let myself indulge this one time. Come, come, hug me my friend.”

Geralt doesn’t move immediately. Actually, he doesn’t move, at all. Chireadan shakes his head and says something that sounds a lot like _what a pair of idiots_. When he is passing by Jaskier, he says something in his ear. The Witcher doesn’t hear him, probably would’ve if he wasn’t so focused in remember what the speech that he so much prepared for this exact moment was. But he sees Jaskier’s face change, his mouth gets an O shape that makes him look very cute. _Don’t_ , focus Geralt, focus.

“I’ll let Leah know that you’re going to pass the music session today. Take your time, buddy.” Chireadan says lastly, patting softly Jaskier’s shoulder before losing himself in the trees. Leaving them both there, looking at themselves as if one have finally lose his mind and was seeing a hallucination.

“Well,” Jaskier speaks, clearing his throat and wobbling absentmindedly the bouquet of herbs. “That explains why you look so real. The, err, the swords weren’t there before. I should've noticed that. You— You look fine. How much has it been? Is that a new chemise? What I’m saying? Of course not, I can see the seam I did on the front. What— ah, what bring you here today? You’ve rarely came here before, so—”

“I missed you.” Geralt says, managing to stop Jaskier's nervous babble.

The bard stares right into the golden eyes. Were Jaskier’s eyes always this tone of blue? It’s so interesting, he can almost tell where the blue gets lighter around the pupil. Why he never looked at this before? Such an amazing view.

“You missed me,” he repeats slowly and try to smile. He doesn’t make it that well. “I… I’ve did what you wanted me to did. You said… on the mountain, you said—”

“I know… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Jaskier. I didn’t…” The words cut at the middle. Fuck. Of course, yes, no fucking telling lies here, Geralt. _You did._ “I regret having said that. A lot.”

The bard doesn’t answer. Geralt is still lost in the amazing view of his eyes, he sees every expression crossing Jaskier’s mind. Here should came the anger, for sure. He’s prepared. He’ll know how to handle his friend reaction. He—

“Alright.”

Wait, what?

“What?”

“Alright,” Jaskier repeats. It unnerves Geralt to unknown limits the fact that Jaskier focuses his gaze on something else that isn’t him. “It’s flattering, but you didn’t have to came all the way here just to apologize. I’m not mad, it’s okay.”

“I didn’t have to— of course I have, Jaskier!” Geralt exclaims a bit louder than he intend to. “It’s not okay, why aren’t you mad?”

Jaskier looks at him now with raised eyebrows, “Do you want me to be mad?”

“Yes!” Geralt cried indignant. “You should be very angry, Jaskier. I was a jerk and said many things you didn’t deserved, why aren’t you upset?”

Why is _Geralt_ the only one upset? honestly, the minimum he deserves is a punch on the face. He knows that if he was in Jaskier’s place, he would get at least three swords buried in his guts. Why isn’t Jaskier punching him in the fucking face? An insult, anything, he should be absolutely mad! He doesn’t even _smell_ angry, there’s not even a trace of burning wood or raging storm, only waterfall and… and— what’s that smell? Silky butter, sweet melted sugar and… downpour?

Oh fuck no. Not only Jaskier wasn’t mad, he was fucking _sad_. Along with another feeling he never could decipher, but the fucking sadness is very well known by the Witcher. It’s the one smell he hates the most coming from the bard. Geralt would have preferred a stampeded of horses all over his body than to know he make Jaskier fucking sad. Isn’t he able to give this good man a single good feeling? Does Geralt only knows how to pour misery over the ones he lo… cares about?

Oh, who was he kidding? He loves Jaskier. He loves him more intense than to Yennefer, or rather say, it’s a different kind of love. More like… like— oh fuck, was he _in love_ of Jaskier? Well, _that_ is a very interesting question he absolutely should’ve done while traveling here, instead of asking himself _right in front of the person he suspect is in love with_.

“I can try if you want, but I’ve never been able to be upset with you no matter what you did, and believe me, I’ve _tried_. Specially that time you took the only bed and collapsed seconds before leaving me with the very not comfortable floor to make a bed, which, I remind you, I shared with a rat the size of my head.” Oh, yes, Geralt remember that. Jaskier spent a whole day avoiding him, he gave up around the night when a stray creature attacked them while they search for a campsite. A very good opportunity to be angry at him without any doubt.

“You made a good job back then,” he says trying not to smile, this is a serious conversation Geralt. “I’m sure you can find one or two thing to get angry, Jas.”

“Oh, I have _plenty_ ,” he concedes with energy, shaking the bouquet. “But I’m not gonna get mad at you, Geralt.”

“Why?” This is the only answer that his head repeats over and over, apparently. Why? Why is he so benevolent towards someone like Geralt? A shitty friend? One who couldn’t say I’m sorry properly like the adult he is. Why should Jaskier be—?

“Because I love you.”

Geralt stays still and looks baffled at the one who just say that statement with such a confidence and easiness. Jaskier watches him, Geralt watches him back. A question unspoken shown in his golden eyes, evidently, because Jaskier does this incredible face as if searching for Geralt’s understanding of his words.

Geralt doesn’t know when he get so close to Jaskier as to be able to grab his face between his hands, but he does. He occupy his thumbs caressing very softly Jaskier’s cheekbones while taking in every detail of his face. He hears him breathe, the raise up and down of his lightly accelerated chest. The soft pink over his colored cheeks and the bright on his eyes. Jaskier is alive. Jaskier is safe, alive and under Geralt’s hands. He didn't stop to think until now how much it had affected him to know that Jaskier had died even if it was for a shortly period.

Jaskier traps the bigger hands under his. “You— You know that, right? You must—…oh Gods, you don’t!” And yeah, okay, maybe now Jaskier is realizing he actually never voiced this feelings before, with all of the deathly curse and all. But he thought he made a good job making sure Geralt knew how valuable he was for him. Obviously, he was wrong. “I love you, Geralt of Rivia. Very much.” He repeats, lowering his voice. And man, it's a relief to the soul, a caress of a fluffy cloud and a soft angel altogether being able to finally say it out loud. He repeats it again, and again, and again just ‘cause he can.

Meanwhile, Geralt’s brain is overwhelmed trying to connect the dots. It feels like trying to catch wet sand with his hands. There’s a warm heat spreading all over his chest and into every little corner of his body, for a moment he thinks in Yennefer’s magic, but nothing happen. The source must be another thing, maybe what Jaskier is saying and repeating over and over? Could those simple yet powerful words cause this funny sensation in a professional Witcher as him?

Obviously, they can.

Geralt’s grip on Jaskier’s face never falter, but his legs are another thing, alien to his body control. A tiredness he didn’t know he was carrying chose that moment to leave his body, dragging his butt to the floor and Jaskier on top of him, of course, since he’ll never let him go again now. The bard yelps a little and steadied himself on Geralt’s shoulders and in between his flexed legs, in what must be the weirdest hug he received ever. He's not complaining, mind you. Jaskier seizes the moment to let himself melt in Geralt’s arms, get his senses be filled with his addictive scent. Gods, how much did he missed this. Please, let him be allowed to enjoy this a moment longer.

He hears Geralt mumble something, but since his mouth is hidden into the chestnut hair, he doesn’t understand and asks him to repeat it.

“Why?” The Witcher say, very low.

“You gonna have to be more specific than that, darling.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt asks tired.

“Why do I love you?” the bard gets a little further from the man’s face, just so he can meet their eyes. Geralt nods. “Because I do.”

Geralt scoff. “That’s not a valid answer.”

“Do you have a favorite color?”

“Yeah, what does that have to—”

“Can you tell me why is that color your favorite?” Gods, Geralt’s eyes were so fucking distracting. Would the sun know a bit of itself fell into this man eyes? Jaskier use ‘Geralt’s eyes’ as a reference to his own favorite color. After all it doesn’t exist in another thing. Such a perfect melted gold.

His question appears to leave him thinking, if the way his brow scrunches is a tell. 

“I… have been told that, apparently, am not suitable to recognize love. I may or may not, be agreed with this statement. I’ve come to known certain... situations that were not... exactly what I've believed. Those situations... made me realize new... discoveries.”

“Okay, you were always cryptic to talk, and I thought that I was very good at traducing you, but I think you’re reaching new levels here and lost me. What are you talking about?”

Confessing to be an utterly fool for years proves to be rather difficult when you’re under a fucking truth spell and are not accustomed to say more than a hundred words per day. He should have listened so much more to Jaskier when he chattered poems. Fuck, this is hard. Never again would he mock Jaskier’s work.

“Geralt, you— you don’t have to say anything back, it’s okay, I wasn’t expecting that anyway. I’m sorry if I gave you that idea that I—”

“No, no, you’re not forcing me. I want to… fuck!”

Geralt promises to never pissed off again a magic user in all his fucking life, too. It shouldn’t be this hard, should it? He loves this man. He loves him. Just… he’s not completely sure how much, or in which way. But, being with him feels great, comfortable, it makes Geralt feel like a normal person and not a mutation made to kill creatures. Jaskier was the first person in approaching him with no ulterior motives, he wanted to know him, to get close to this man who never offered anything in return. Jaskier make songs of his feats, many times magnified, to show the world a Geralt that is fierce, invincible, able to defeat any harm and befriend humanity. Something very not accurate, as he never cared for a single human until Jaskier came.

Next to the bard he feels lighter, natural. Happy? Geralt not even once had to fake or say something he didn’t meant to, just to please this man. This man is simple and constant as the days and nights happening every day of the year. Jaskier never asks for much but gives Geralt so many things in exchange of nothing. Why would he? What in all of the monsters guts, cold words and so little knowledge about feelings that the Witcher is, made the bright and easy Jaskier fell in love of him?

How does Jaskier know what this love is? Geralt needs to know, so he asks him just that.

Jaskier just smile softly and tucks a strand of silver hair behind his ear. “I’m an expertise, my dear. I know every kind of love; I’ve loved and been loved by many people in many ways through my life. In the same way you know your creatures and potions, I know the love.”

“How do I know which is the one I feel?” Geralt grabs the hand of Jaskier that is not on his hair making little movements and draws distracted patterns on the back.

“Well, there’s many ways. Sometimes it takes practice, like brandish a sword. It’s not something you can master in one night. The heart is a muscle, if you don’t train it regularly there’s gonna be things you can’t or don’t know how to do. You don’t send a child to the war. You start low, test to which extent you are comfortable and from there, you figure it out where you want to go.”

“Hmm… and you don’t happen to know some ways of practicing, don’t you?” the voice utters like a whisper, so, so close of his. Never before Jaskier experienced this level of eye-fucking, and he’s ashamed of that fact. This is something he could easily get accustomed to. Although he suspects the factor that Geralt is at the receiving way is fundamental.

“I can think of a few,” the bard exhales inches from his lips. The desire to shorten this small distance is overwhelming, but if Geralt doesn’t want it, if he’s not sure about what—

Yeah, no, Geralt seems very into this training.

Their lips touch softly and unhurried. A caress so delicate it’s almost unbearable. The first one who moves his mouth more intently is Geralt, just a bit, he’s trying to identify this new feeling. It’s so different to any he experienced until now. It’s chaste but the hunger for more is there, waiting to be called. A strange heat pools in his stomach and moves slowly to ticklish his limbs until his fingertips. It feels funny, good, precise. He’s sure if his mouth weren’t occupied sucking Jaskier’s lips, he would be smiling.

This feels so damn right, they should've be doing it since ages ago. Why weren't they doing it since fucking ages ago? How could've he been so fucking blind? Why didn’t he noticed Jaskier's feelings sooner? That way they could've being enjoying this religious experience every fucking second of the day. Because, in case anybody has any doubt, Geralt is very, very sure that he does loves Jaskier in a very formal and committed way. The love he feels toward the sorceress it’s not even close to this, that one is erotic, passional and very invigorating.

But this… gods, this is addicting. Is soft, happy, wholesome. There’s not a single thought in Geralt’s mind that it isn’t Jaskier right now. He can taste the happiness emanating from the man, he can taste the mint and the rosin, the summer sun and—

Geralt almost laughs. Of course it was that. The silky butter, melted sugar and cinnamon: the taste of Jaskier’s love.

When they separate, just a bit, both look at each other in amazement. Geralt smiles finally, so Jaskier cannot be doing less.

“Would you believe it, I think I found out which one is,” the wolf says eliciting a bigger smile from the bard.

“And?”

Geralt hums, “It seems I’m in love of you, and had been for a long time. ” The instant those words left his mouth, a ticklish gush of air runs through his body: Yennefer’s magic is finally vanished; he should have guessed being honest with himself would break the spell.

He grabs Jaskier face with both hands and stares right into his cornflower-blue eyes. “I’m not sure how to make it up to you, Jaskier. I don’t know the properly way of loving someone. But if you want… if you let me try and—”

“Shh,” The bard kiss his forehead. “There is no such thing as loving appropriately, my dear. The proper love is the one that can be contagious and wholesome, the one you know how to give naturally. You gave me plenty of love all this years together, though you might’ve not noticed it. Love is trust, and there's not a single person walking this earth in which I trust more than you, I would let you throw me in the teeth of a Wyvern without think it twice. You would never hurt me intentionally Geralt, I know that for sure. You protected me all these years, after all. You make me happy and in return I want for you to be happy; that is love. You never forced me to do anything, it didn’t existed a single rule between us, yet somehow we work together just fine. We always move at our own rhythm; we get separated but found each other every time. I fell in love of you, the same Geralt that you think is uncapable of love. Such a thing would've never be possible if you didn't know how to cherish someone. No matter what you do, I'll love you, because you motivated me to be a better version of myself just by loving you.”

Geralt kisses Jaskier one more time.

He can’t believe he did such things as he assures. He doesn’t know how to do the half of all that Jaskier just said. But he can understand it, because that’s how he feels about Jaskier. Jaskier came to his life like a fire in the middle of a crude winter. He became necessary by choice, Geralt need this man to feel complete. He can live without him? Yes. Does he want to? Never. Love shouldn’t be a dependency, it’s a free choice. And there wasn’t a better example that describes what his relationship is that a free choice. Both had many opportunities to separate and never see each other again, but behold, that never was the case. They were united by choice, a destiny forged from own volition.

The destiny that Geralt really wants.

He don’t separate his mouth from Jaskier except to recover some air from time to time. They kiss for minutes, hours, he doesn’t know for sure. The taste of the bard is now mixed with his own and that's the way it should be from now on. A little of tongue is thrown into the mix, but there isn’t the desire to level it up to something else. The kissing is perfect, their hands travel along their bodies, along with soft touches and little occasional laughter. Jaskier is so fucking happy he don't fit into his body.

“I’m gonna be the best teacher you ever had. I’ll teach you so many things, so many ways of love. Not only me, of course. Once you start you cannot stop. Your heart will get so accustomed to love that you’re gonna do it without notice it, and perhaps, someday you might be as pro as I am. I’m the equivalent to a Witcher but about love. Oh! That’ll make for a very interesting song, what do you think? Jaskier, the Witcher of love arts, the Lovely Witcher? I need a better name for sure, but the idea is very present, would you—”

Geralt kisses him to shut him up. Oh, their relationship would be so much fun from now on. He kisses him over and over and over, until his lips felt sored. Though that didn’t stop Jaskier from make the song anyway, it’s even catchy, if Geralt is honest.

They have all the time in the world to put Geralt under Jaskier’s intensive training, but the White Wolf is an exceeding student, he would take no time in surpass the expectative. Under the warm sun of the noon, they kiss like teenagers and feel like ones. Geralt would know about kinds of love he didn’t even heard the name before, but he has the confidence that if Jaskier could learn all his potions, he can do this. He can learn this if is this particular bard who teaches him to. There isn’t a single person around the Continent better suitable for the job.

After all, Jaskier is a being of love.

**_~Extra~_ **

“Would you just, shut up now please?” Geralt pleads with his face buried on the table, next to a tankard of ale.

Jaskier's loud laughter reverberate all around the house. Chireadan, who is sitting next to Geralt also hides an indiscreet smile behind his own beverage.

“You thought—! Oh sweet Melitele, you thought I was in love of him?!” another burst of laughter. “How?”

“Pour me another glass of wine and I’ll tell you a lot more very interesting secrets about our little friend.” Yennefer speaks now, sitting by Jaskier. How did she get here, you may wonder? Portals. Fucking portals. Why, do you say? Fucking Xenovox. It seems that during their brief meeting, Yennefer and Jaskier became best friends. Somehow the elf enters to the equation, Geralt recalls Jaskier saying something about him being in love of the sorceress and is also an elf and he's such a good friend, Geralt.

“Is this gonna become a habit?” the Witcher mutters pipping just an eye off the refuge of his arm.

When the three voices answer a rotund ‘Yes’, Geralt can only send a prayer to the heavens. He prays to always have bottles of Lambert’s brewing when this happen again. But hey, it isn’t as bad as it seems.

He’s, after all, surrounded by three kinds of love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me on this journey! ♥ I hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> I have so much fun writing this even though my broke english, it's almos complete already, so I shouldn't take too much in publish the next chapter, I hope you liked it!


End file.
